


Cheap Tricks

by Fluencca



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: (basically), Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 00:49:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14801172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluencca/pseuds/Fluencca
Summary: Tony, Peter and May are taken. Tony does whatever he can to keep everyone safe. Everyone else, at least.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be a teeny-tiny piece. I had one line from somewhere in the middle, and reverse engineered this to enable it. It kept growing. 
> 
> This is basically canon compliant, except that May doesn't know. You may need to pretend that the end-credit scene of Homecoming happened several months later than it did to squeeze this into a canonical timeline. 
> 
> Hurt Tony Stark is pretty hard to write, on account of him being pretty badass at baseline. It took Iron Man 3 1.5 hours of backstory to justify him being tied to a bed frame, and that lasted for only about 15 minutes before he became badass again. So what I'm trying to say is, you may need to check your disbelief at the door. We'll keep it safe!

The passenger side of the car exploded inwards, and Tony had less than a second to get to his watch, to offer some kind of protection against whoever, or _what_ ever, it was that was after him now. He was vaguely aware of Happy slamming against the airbag, and grunting incoherently after. That was good. He knew he had been about to do something, something important, but he had banged his head and he couldn’t seem to forget what he was understanding—no, that wasn’t right. People were standing over him, and it made him feel anxious but maybe they’d know what he was about to do. It had been important. Then he felt a prick in his neck and everything went dark.

~*~

Tony woke up to an asshole of a headache. It took him a moment to realize he wasn't hungover, and this wasn't home; he was on a thin, vinyl mattress, and judging by the cold it was on the floor. It felt an awful lot like he'd been kidnapped.

Eyes still shut tight against the headache he sat straight up, and regretted it immediately. His neck was sore, his head was pounding, and there was an excruciating, constant ache behind his eyeballs. Had he been drugged? He remembered having Happy drive him to… Midtown? He’d needed a cross-fiber melding bar, and they’d been on the way back when something crashed into them. He held his fingers up to his forehead, where a bruise was forming. No blood. At least that.

Tony braced himself against the mattress, then took one last deep breath, and opened his eyes.

He was in a cell, largish as these things go. It was divided in the center by metal bars, and behind them lay a woman on a similar mattress on the floor. Her hair obscured her face.

To his right was a small stainless steel toilet, and to his left was—

"Jesus Christ, kid!"

Peter Parker sat on the far end of his mattress, legs crossed. Tony raised a hand to his heart, as though to slow the sudden beating, but instead he just shoved the kid lightly on the shoulder.

"Why the hell are you just sitting there, staring?" He looked around again, into the hallway past the bars at the front of the cell.

"And do you know where we are?"

"I," the kid began, then shook his head. He spoke in a low voice, and looked over his shoulder as though he was afraid of being overheard.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I didn’t mean to startle you, it’s just that I’ve been awake for a while, the whole time, basically, and I thought you’d want to get your bearings first.” He paused, and looked at the woman across from them in the other half of the cell. Tony could guess who she was, and his heart sank. He averted his eyes from her sleeping (passed out? Drugged?) form, as though that could protect her. This couldn’t be good. Tony could name several reasons for someone to grab him, but why were _they_ here?

Peter continued in a whisper. “I _think_ we’re, like, upstate, somewhere? I saw the GWB, for sure, but I don’t know how far we went after that. I lost track, a little.”

“Well, I’m sorry to see you here, kid,” Tony said, and he meant it. He stood up to take a better look around, trying to think through his headache. The cell was made of solid concrete, and there were no windows anywhere on the walls or in the hallway that stretched outward from the cells. The lights were cheap florescence, and the door at the far end of the hall had a swiveling concrete latch. Looks like they were underground, which means communications would be blocked, if… he looked down, but he’d known what he was going to find. His watch was gone, and with it the Iron Hand. No repulsing or blasting their way out of here, then.

His right hand shot to his left wrist, though, and he breathed audibly. His Kimoyo bead bracelet was still there. So the three of them weren’t dead-dead. Yet. He kept examining the cell. The kid didn’t move, his legs drawn up, his chin resting on his knees. He almost looked relaxed, except for the way he absently rubbed his hands along his arms.

“Did you see who brought us here?”

“Um, there were four guys who took me and May. There were different guys who brought you in. I don’t know who they are. They took your watch.” He rubbed his arms.

“Yup, I noticed that,” Tony said, examining the toilet. There was no tank, and it seemed to be vacuum operated. So this was a custom-made facility.

“They tried to take your bracelet, too, but they couldn’t get it off.”

“Lucky for us,” Tony said, and then turned back to the kid. “Come here,” He said.

The kid got lightly to his feet, and came to the corner where Tony was standing. Tony took him by the shoulders and lightly pushed, until the kid’s back was pressed against the wall. Tony pointed above his head, to where a surveillance camera hung from the ceiling.

“We can talk, there’s no sound on that. Kid, I don’t have my suit, so we’re at a bit of a handicap here. I have enough to work with to get us all out of here, but I need to know: Am I in here with Peter Parker right now, or with Spider-Man? No wrong answers, but I gotta know.”

The kid looked at Tony, his eyes worried. He rubbed up and down the length of his arms again. He glanced at his aunt, then over Tony’s shoulder at the door. He was afraid, and Tony hated himself a little for judging him for it. He would do what he could to protect the kid, but he definitely couldn’t fight his way through six guys, not while keeping May and Peter safe. All it would take is one bullet to… He refused to go there. Pushing the thought aside, he caught the kid’s eye again, and waited.

“I’m Spider-Man,” Peter said. “If May could not find out, that would be great, but I’m Spider-Man.” He said it with conviction the second time. _Thank God,_ Tony thought, even as his heart sank. But he pushed down on the second feeling, and focused on the first.

“Okay, then, Spider-Man. Before May wakes up, you need to have this.” He undid the bracelet at his wrist, and the kid looked on with interest. When he spoke he reminded Tony how young he was.

“I didn’t know you cosplayed Black Panther, Mr. Stark. That bracelet is wicked cool.”

“I—what? No—I’m Iron Man, kid, I don’t cosplay other superheroes,” he said, and fiddled with the beads. He disentangled three of them, which were connected to one another on a strand of Vibranium. He put the remaining beads back on his wrist and re-clasped the bracelet shut.

Tony whipped around as the heavy latch on the door at the far end of the hall began to spin. Crap. He grabbed the kid’s wrist, and spoke quickly as he closed the new bracelet around it.

“Listen carefully: these beads are prototype nanotech. The two on either side,” Tony pointed, and gestured the action needed to activate them, “are web-shooters. The one in the middle will give you a suit with an uplink to comms. But you’d have to get outside before you could use them, so _don’t do anything_ yet _._ We don’t know how far we are underground, or how many men there are, or how big this facility is. Let me see what we’re up against, and I’ll let you know when it’s time to make a break for it.”

Tony glanced over his shoulder, to see the door swing open. He turned back to the kid. He was the priority right now. He didn’t need May awake to know she would back him up on this.

Peter was looking over Tony’s shoulder, eyeing the men who came into the hall. Tony held Peter’s face in his hands, forcing eye-contact. He spoke in an urgent whisper.

“Kid, you listen. You’re going to fight your way out of here, and you’re not going to come back until you have one of my suits with you, or FRIDAY calls in back-up. But not yet. You hear me? You _hear_ me?”

The kid’s eyes never left his, but he had no voice. He just nodded.

“Stay back,” Tony hissed, and then released him. He pushed him back against the wall, hoping his body language exuded a bit of belligerence, for the benefit of whoever it was who just walked in. He turned to face them.

It wasn’t super funny, but he could have laughed. In fact, he saw no reason not to. Tony laughed.

“Jeremy Panaius? _You’re_ behind this? Man, I haven’t seen you since MIT.” He shook his head, and walked up to the bars. He leaned against them at an angle to man on the other side.

“I’m guessing I’m here for some good old fashioned corporate blackmail, considering PanaiTech’s been dropping, what, 10 points every quarter for the last three quarters? But why are they here?” He asked dismissively, gesturing vaguely to where the kid ( _good_ ) still cowered in the corner, and to where May began stirring.

“Oh, Stark. Living proof that you can be a smartass without being smart,” Panaius said, crossing his arms. He smiled after he spoke, but it was a little too late to be natural. Tony could see the annoyance behind the collected façade. Which was excellent, because annoyed at him meant he wasn’t paying attention to the others. He continued baiting.

“I don’t know, Jer. Only one of the people in this room was valedictorian. I mean, I assume. No offense, guys,” he said, looking at the three goons behind Panaius. He saw the other man’s hands clench into fists.

“So why am I here?” Tony made sure he sounded just a little bored.

Panaius stepped closer to the bars, coming right up to where Tony stood. He held onto the bars as he spoke, his tone delighted venom.

“I’ll explain slowly, so you can follow, Stark. You’re going to tell me everything you know about Project FIRE, right now. If you don’t, I’m going to start hurting you. If you still don’t, I’m going to start hurting _them_.”

Tony was actually taken aback. He had no idea what the man was talking about. He was about to say so, but then realized that he wouldn’t have another opportunity to—

He grabbed either side of Jeremey’s head from between the bars, pushed it back a bit, and slammed it forward, hard. The _clang_ of skull against metal echoed in the concrete chamber, and Tony took a step back so he was out of arm’s reach.

“That looks like it smarts. You should put some ice on that, Jer,” Tony said, and crossed his arms as Panaius pressed one hand against his forehead, the other grabbing a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his Devore suit and using it to dab his bleeding nose. Tony looked on, unsympathetically. It was a good shot, and he had a feeling the man was going to earn it before long.

He wasn’t wrong.

Without bothering to look back at Tony, and one hand still holding the handkerchief to his nose, Panaius waved at one of the guards, pointing somewhere behind Tony. Tony whipped around as the guard unlocked the adjacent cell, entered, and walked up to where May was now sitting up on the mattress.

She tried to scramble to her feet, but the guard was on her before she had a chance to fully stand. He slapped her, hard, knocking her back down.

“May!” Peter ran towards the bars that separated them from her, pulling at them desperately as the man reached down and grabbed a fistful of May’s hair.

Panaius smirked, still holding his nose. “That’s why I like separating moms from their kids. It’s too much effort to… make a point when they’re together.”

Tony could see the bars begin to bend, a bit, where Peter held them. That jolted him out of his shock. He didn’t think things would escalate so quickly. But he also couldn’t afford for the kid to reveal himself, not now. It would be the death of all of them.

“Stop, Panaius, stop!” Tony said, walking back to the bars where Panaius stood, then turning back to May. She was still suspended by her hair, trying to get her feet beneath her, the guard’s hand poised mid-air, ready to strike her again.

“Stop, I’ll cooperate,” Tony said. The guard paused and looked back at Panaius, waiting for instruction.

He took his time in giving it. He walked over so he was directly in line with May and the guard, then walked slowly back to where Tony stood.

“Yeah. I thought you might. You touch me again and you’ll die.”

It was a foolish lie. Tony knew that Panaius needed him, and he knew that currently, he was the least expendable person in the room. But he didn’t say anything. The guard holding May lowered the arm poised to hit her, but kept the other firmly wrapped in her hair.

“It’s not as though I was going to play nice, Stark,” Panaius said, as he gestured to the two remaining guards with him. They flanked him on either side, then overtook him at the front of the cell.

“But you’ve reminded me you can be quite the pain in the ass. Turn around, and put your hands behind your back.”

Tony worked his jaw, but he said nothing. He turned to face Peter, his hands extended behind his back. Peter looked back at him with near-panic. Strong arms dragged Tony closer to the door of the cell, and another set of hands secured thick zip-ties around his wrists. Shit. They would be harder to break than handcuffs, and had less give. But then a second set of zip-ties were used to bind his arms just below the elbow. Those were pulled even tighter, and Tony bit back a cry of pain with a grunt. Already his shoulder blades ached in protest.

Once he his arms were secured, the guard holding May dropped her roughly to the ground, and left her cell. Tony looked up at Peter. He seemed a bit more collected now, with May relatively safe. Tony was glad for that, at least.

The kid looked back at Tony, and gently dropped one hand to his side. With his middle two fingers he made a slow, tentative web-shooting motion. His eyes narrowed in silent query, and Tony could see his shoulders tense, as he readied to take action of Tony only gave the word.

The door to their cell opened behind him. Tony shook his head minutely at the kid. _Not yet_. Then he was grabbed roughly by one of the guards, dragged around and marched towards the end of the hall, through the door they had entered.

Fuck _._


	2. Chapter 2

Tony was pushed along by two of the guards, one on either side of him holding onto each arm. Ahead of them Panaius led the way. The third guard was somewhere behind them.

They passed through the heavy concrete door, and Tony felt despair coil heavily in his stomach; the keypad on the other side was Stark tech. He’d designed the loopback bluffing mechanism himself. And beyond the door… He felt the familiar pangs of panic begin to rise through his chest, spreading from his rapidly beating heart and climbing up his neck. He forced a deep breath to cut if off. Then another. Each breath sent spikes pain from his aching shoulders all the way down his spine, but it helped ground him. There was no time for this now.

To his right was a mini-command center, of sorts. It was enclosed in glass, and inside Tony could see several security guards manning an enormous display of security camera footage. Even assuming two or three cameras per room, the facility must be huge. The area they were in was built like a lobby, but it was dark, dimly lit by soft blue light. Dozens of people—all armed— walked to and fro, quietly, purposefully. None spared a glance at the man being dragged around by armed guards.

He was pushed down a few winding hallways ( _left, left, right, straight past two corridors, right)_ , and into a large, brightly lit room. It had only a metal table and two chairs, and it looked as though it was lifted, as is, out of a crappy noir novel.

Oddly, there was a clock on the wall. Tony thought these things usually worked by withholding things like the time.

Once inside, the two guards who had been leading him stood at either corner of the wall to his right. The door locked behind them.

Panaius walked around the table, and pulled out one of the chairs.

“Please,” he said. “Have a seat.”

Tony considered _not_ , and he had several rather snappy one-liners lined up to say so, but after a moment’s hesitation he took the proffered seat, his back to the guards. He knew he was outnumbered, and he knew he needed to get some more information from this guy if he was going to get out of here. Without a suit. And without a repulsor. And with the kid. And his aunt. He supposed a good enough place to start was—

“So why am I here? Sorry about your head sitch, there,” Tony gestured, as best he could with his hands immobilized, towards the bump forming on the man’s forehead. “But I owed you. Car crash and all. I have anger issues. What I was trying to express is that I have no idea what the hell this FIRE project is.”

“I highly dou—“

“Oh, wait, another thing. Even if I knew, why are a random kid and his aunt here?”

Panaius was still partially behind him, so Tony only caught the swing of his fist out of the corner of his eye half a second before it connected. It was a backhand shot and it caught him just beneath the eye, sending him sideways and half-way off the chair. He righted himself and wore a pleasantly bored expression. He thought it might annoy Jeremy more.

“Do _not_ interrupt me again.” Panaius said, and took the chair opposite Tony. Hopefully this meant less hitting and more talking, because man, everything hurt. His head still pounded from the aftereffects of whatever drug he’d been given, his neck was sore, and his shoulders… They were on fire. He pulled his focus to the man sitting across from him.

“Stark, don’t play dumb. It’s beneath you. I did my research, I put two and two together.” He opened a drawer on his side of the desk, and removed a small paper file. From it he pulled some documents, and began throwing them on the table in Tony’s direction. Almost despite himself, Tony leaned in to examine them.

“In 1987, in the height of the Cold War, the Senate Appropriations Committee set aside 70 million dollars for Project FIRE. The details of the project weren’t even known to the members of the committee. But,” he continued, and turned one of the documents around, so Tony could better read it, “this classified information was, shall we say, leaked recently.

“The Female Individual Reproductive Engineering project was outlined and funded by the US government, and—“

Tony’s eye still throbbed, but he couldn’t help himself. He interrupted.

“I’m sorry, I must have misheard you. The _what?”_

Panaius seemed exasperated, but he answered. “Female Individual Reproductive Engineering project.”

“Oh. What does that even mean?” Tony shook his head minutely, as though trying to get the pieces of a puzzle to fall into place.

“Well, if you stopped interrupting,” Panaius answered, annoyed, “I was _saying_ it was funded by the US government to seek out and commodify the reproductive environment of healthy human females.”

He pushed another document toward Tony. This one was an image of an obviously premature infant in some kind of bio-organic incubator. Tony looked away, then up at Panaius, all humor gone. He wished he could unsee that tiny creature, helpless and blue in what must have been dolefully inadequate tech. When he spoke, his voice was dead serious.

“This is Mengele level shit. What makes you think I know anything about this? I was barely out of school in 1987, hell, I was barely shaving. I didn’t even have control of my company until years later.”

“Don’t be so judgmental. The United States was looking at possible nuclear annihilation, and the government did what it had to in order to ensure the survival of the entire _race_. Surely even you can understand that.

“And of course back then you weren’t involved. But your father left you the company, and every project he’d even signed on for. Including FIRE. And the on the very 30 year anniversary of his signing, you go to visit one May Parker, a healthy single female in prime reproductive age. There are no coincidences, Stark.”

Panaius showed Tony the final document. It had the seal of the Senate on it, and neatly stamped _Top Secret_ in the top right hand corner of the page. It contained a brief description—almost verbatim to what he’d just been told—and at the bottom under contractor neatly typed were the initials HAWS.

“See that, little Tony? Howard Anthony Walter Stark. Your father was the mastermind behind this project, and it’s time a new mastermind renewed it. Today, with enhanced humans popping up left and right, there are certain organizations who would pay very handsomely for this tech, should anyone crack it. The future of the human race will be reborn in FIRE, Stark.

“You’re going to release those files to me.”

Tony sat up straight, and took a deep breath. Both actions pulled on his shoulders, and he regretted them immediately. But he did his best to speak calmly, because he really needed to be believed on this.

“Jeremy, I swear to you, I don’t know anything about this Project FIRE. My father was a class-A dick, but he wasn’t… A Nazi. He wasn’t into human experimentation. And I didn’t go visit May that day, I went because her kid was chosen for some Stark internship program. This is all just a massive misunderstanding. Which is understandable for _you_ , all things considered,” Tony conceded.

“Really? You personally visit each kid who gets an internship? And what about your father’s initials at the bottom of the page?”

Tony closed his eyes for a moment. He was reminded of something, if only he could place it… He opened his eyes, and looked directly at Jeremy.

“H.A.W.S. Hammer Advanced Weapons Systems. Look into them, this was much more up their alley. I even threw Justin Hammer in jail for you, so you can skip the whole kidnapping and illegal detention thing.”

“Come on, Stark. Like I said, there are no coincidences. If you want me to believe that, you’ll give me whatever files you have on FIRE. Or better yet, access to your private servers. I can find what I need there. There’s no need for this to go any further.”

For a long moment, Tony could only take too-shallow breaths. Everything suddenly became a little more complicated, because he had information on his private servers that he could not allow to get out. Information on the Avengers. Information on the Pentagon. Information on the _kid_.

“There are no files,” he said deliberately, slowly, desperately.

But Panaius wasn’t convinced. He stood up, gathered the documents from the table, and put them back in the folder.

“We’re very organized here, we like to keep things running smoothly. Like a European train. Do you know how long five minutes are when you’re taking a beating?”

With that he motioned to the two guards who stood behind Tony, and tucked the folder under his armpit.

“Five on, five off. Give him about an hour.” He knocked on the door, and once it was unlocked and opened from the outside he stepped out without looking back.

Tony jumped up and took a breath as he began to turn, but it’s knocked right out of him when a fist slams hard into his stomach.

~*~

Peter sat with May for a few minutes after they took Mr. Stark, making sure she was okay. He knew he was needed to wait before he tried anything, but his arms have been tingling since he heard the struggle from his open bedroom window, since he went to the window to see them dragging May towards the waiting van.

But now his _everything_ was on edge. The sense of danger was breathing down his neck and crawling up his arms and he had to get away from it but—

~*~

He was held from behind, strong arms pulling even more on his aching shoulders. One massive leg locked one of his in place. The other guy was just hitting, like he was nothing more than a punchingbag at the gym, and hitting again, sometimes the stomach, his arms, his face, and he couldn’t breathe but he could see the clock and _God, it’s only been 3 minutes_ and he felt like his stomach was going to be knocked up his throat, but his jaw exploded in pain instead—

~*~

“Hon, come sit by me. You’re getting anxious.”

“No, sorry May, I just gotta pace for a bit, lots of energy,” he lied.

He rubbed his hands up and down his arms and lingered for a moment on the bracelet that contained the nanotech web-shooters. He wished he could _do_ something—

~*~

The seconds were ticking by loudly, slowly, obnoxiously, and there was only one more minute to go but he couldn’t see the clock anymore and it was a blessing but then he was thrown against the metal table, and he fell to the floor and they were kicking, and barely 10 seconds had passed and he tried to curl in on himself, but one of them stepped down on his shoulders and pain erupted down his back, and he couldn’t _not_ cry out a lit—

~*~

Peter’s teeth itched, they hurt with a sense of imminent danger he couldn’t shake. Nothing had changed in their cell or the hallway leading up to it, but he was ready to literally climb the walls.

He forced himself to sit down next to May. He grasped for her hand through the bars.

“May, I’m scared.”

She was quiet for a moment.

When she spoke, she said, “I know sweetie. Me too. But I promise you,” she squeezed his hand, “I’ll die before I let anything happen to you.”

“Thanks, May.” He squeezed her hand back.

He didn’t correct her, but he had meant for Mr. Stark.

~*~

Exactly five minute later—like a European train, Tony thought somewhere—they backed off. He was left on the floor, panting for breath, the weight of his body a strain on his ribs, on his lungs. But he couldn’t move without straining his shoulders, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that. It took him a full minute to regulate his breathing. Another to roll onto his knees, so at least some of the pressure was off his middle. Everything hurt.

He spat out blood, and tried to remember why this was even happening. Because his dad shared initials with Hammer’s company? He didn’t deserve this. Another minute passed. He could see the clock from where he kneeled—of course he could, that was its point—and he had barely 90 seconds left. He hated having his hands tied behind his back. He hated being so defenseless. He hated that he couldn’t stop this, because revealing the kid’s identity _while he was captured_ was a hill he was willing to die on.

“Wanna switch?” One of the guards asked.

The other shrugged.

The one who had done most of the hitting now grabbed Tony by his hair, dragging him to his feet. The other hand wrapped around his throat.

Five more minutes began.

Then again. And again.

~*~

Peter began pacing abruptly.

~*~

And _again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes of substance at the end of the work)
> 
> I'm happy to know if something worked or didn't work for you, or if you caught an error.   
> Comments, critiques, corrections, and comments are always welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

Tony probably could have walked, but he let them drag him back to the cell because it was passive aggressive, and he felt like being an asshole. It also allowed him to get another look at the facility around them. At one turn he noticed, in the direction opposite from the one they were going, a door with a sign of a girl crossing her legs. It was absurdly playful, considering the nature of the facility. He wondered about that bathroom.

He caught the code they punched into the keypad through heavy eyelids, but he doubted it would be useful information. The keypad was designed to allow only one-way movement. The door had to be opened from the outside.

Before they opened the cell door one of the guards pulled a knife, but the other waved it away.

“The boss said to leave these on,” he said, tugging a bit at the zip-ties.

They dropped him onto his knees on the floor of the cell, locked the door behind him, and retreated down the hallway. The heavy door closed behind them.

Tony thought he’d like to stay as he was, because for one second, nothing hurt more than anything else. His arms, stomach, ribs, head, legs, they were all a perfectly balanced cacophony of _ache_ that meant nothing demanded his immediate attention. But then the kid spoke.

“Mr. Stark? Are, are you alright?” And his voice was worried and scared and young, so young; so Tony pulled himself together.

He took a deep breath. “Sure, I’m fine, kid,” he said as he got to his feet. He didn’t give him a chance to second guess that.

“Do me a favor and move that mattress over there? Against the bars.” He pointed with a leg. The kid seemed happy to have something to do, and he lifted the mattress and set it down next to where his aunt was sitting. Tony sat on the mattress, his back against the bars, his arms slipping between them. At least this way he could lean back without increasing the pressure on his shoulders.

“Hello, Ms. Parker. We didn’t get a chance to meet and greet before.” He kept his tone light, but he had to close his eyes as his headache flared. He wished he had a free hand to press against the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, pleasure to see you again, Mr. Stark,” May said, and her gentle accent hid a smile. Tony appreciated her lack of hysteria.

“So, I gotta ask,” she continued, “Why are we here? What did that man want?”

Tony sighed, and opened his eyes. He sat a little forward and turned so he was looking at May and Peter, her through the bars and him on the mattress by his side.

“He wants some information I can’t give him, and some things I won’t.”

“Mr. Stark—“

“Please, call me Tony. Nothing breaks the ice better than being kidnapped together.”

“Fine. Tony, I’m here with my kid, and no offense, but that’s not gonna cut it. _What do they want?_ ”

He looked from May back to the kid, and back again. Peter was looking at him with interest, but May had something else in her glance. It was suspicion, and a steely determination. She had a kid to protect, he got it. He really did.

“They think my company was involved in some terrible experiments on human fetuses, and they want the files. They also think that I approached _you_ to be part of these experiments. I tried to tell them that they were crazy, but they didn’t believe me.”

Tony hoped that was enough. It was all true. But he did not want to elaborate on the second demand Panaius had made of him. Tony knew guilt well enough to recognize when it had potential to take root.

But Tony should have known that the best way to hurt someone was for him to try to protect them. He could market it as a weapon. Peter asked the follow-up question.

“And the information you _won’t_ give them? You said they wanted two things.”

Tony considered lying. He settled on vague.

“The wanted access to my personal servers.” He avoided looking at Peter.

“Can’t you give them that?” May asked. “Maybe they’d let us out, and _then_ you could, you know, mitigate damage?”

Tony fought the urge to bring his hands up, to scrub his face, to hide for a moment from what he was going to say.

“No can do, I’m afraid. There’s sensitive information there. Avengers’ information. People’s lives would be put in danger.” He paused for a moment, then added, “I doubt they’d let us out of here, anyway.”

The kid hugged himself, a little, but seemed to accept it with a small nod of his head. Tony knew he’d rather be on the protect _ing_ side of things than the protect _ed_. 

But May turned so she was sitting on her knees facing him and Peter directly, now.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Stark? You’re protecting “people’s” lives? “Avengers’” lives? What about my kid’s life? He’s in danger, right now. You can’t seriously sacrifice him to protect superheroes! They can protect themselves! Look at you—are you going to die saving some heroes who are God knows where across the world?”

“Please, it’s Tony, and I haven’t sacrificed anyone since I made Pepper CEO of my company.

“The information on those servers can topple governments, May. Not to mention that this,” he shook his head as best he could to indicate himself, and the dramatic gesture wasn’t worth the movement, because everything blazed again in pain. His voice grew sharp with it.

 “This is not my favorite modus operandi, but yeah, some of the Avengers have secrets worth dying for.”

He didn’t mean to, but he looked over at the kid as he spoke. It was barely half a moment’s glance, but it was enough. The kid caught it, and Tony could see the implication dawn on him. Peter’s eyes grew a little wider, he sat up a little straighter, and for a moment he just looked at Tony in horror.

Then he said, “Oh, God,” and shot up and walked to the corner of the cell, the farthest away he could get from Tony and May. It was the corner beneath the security camera. He stood there, restlessly, walking back and forth in the small space and ignoring May’s calls for him to come back.

“I got it,” Tony said, and pushing against the bars behind him he rose to his feet in a fluid motion. _Ow._ He really wished he could grab the kid to stop his pacing. It was making him nervous.

“Hey, hey, kid,” Tony said, positioning himself to more-or-less block him in the corner, and hide him from May. They would have to _talk._

“Stop, stop… Good. Look at me,” Tony said, and when the kid did he was breathing heavily. When he spoke it was in harsh whisper.

“Mr. Stark, this is all my fault! I’m sitting here safely while you’re going to _die_ to keep my secret?” He gestured angrily at the door at the end of the hall, and what happened beyond it. 

“That’s insane! I could have broken the bars an hour ago! I can break those stupid zip-ties! I could have tried to fight the guys who took May, but I didn’t have my suit and I was afraid they’d find out who I was. I can’t keep letting you and May get hurt because I’m too coward to do anything.”

He crossed his arms again, defiantly. He looked up at Tony, also defiantly.

“Are you done? Listen closely: Number one? This isn’t about you. Panaius took us because he’s a dumbfuck. Number two—you’re not the only one with secrets. You think I need a guy like Panaius selling Cap’s location? Or knowing what Vision can do? Number three—it is a _little_ about you because—

“No, quiet,” he snapped quietly, as Peter tried to interject.

“You had your little outburst, now it’s time to shut it and listen. If they find out who you are, while you’re trapped in here, you’re _never_ getting out. May will never get out. They will abuse her and break her and use her to get to you. Do you understand that?”

The silence between them seemed to become tangible. Tony looked kept looking straight at the kid, waiting for his response. He’d been going for urgently realistic, but as soon as he’d said it he heard how harsh it came out. Who the fuck speaks like that to a teenager? But the kid needed to understand. There was no room for mistakes, here. This was real life.

Finally Peter nodded, throwing furtive glances at his aunt. Tony continued.

“And number three--”

 _Four_ , Peter mouthed soundlessly, and Tony would have smacked him upside the head, if he could.

“Four,” he corrected, rolling his eyes, “is that I’m Iron Man. I have no intention of dying here. We need to know what we’re up against, and we need to know the way out before we make our move. Even if you broke these bars, you’d never make it past the door. And once past it, there are dozens of armed personnel. Even if you could fight all of them, how would you keep May safe? Riddle me that.”

Tony paused, but the kid seemed to get it was rhetorical. Peter looked down and shuffled his feet.  

“Yeah, I thought so. So let me figure out the best way to get out of here, and I promise I’ll tap you in when it’s time, Spider-Man. Okay?”

The kid glanced at the bars, and then at May. When he looked back at Tony, he nodded. “Okay.”

Tony sighed with annoyance at having to explain all this. He jerked with his head toward May.

“Now go show your aunt how okay you are. You’re freaking her out, and when she freaks out I freak out.”

Peter gave a little laugh, and went to talk quietly with May. Tony gave them a moment.

He leaned against the wall, absently playing with the Kimoyo beads still around his wrist. Pepper didn’t like him to have the Arc Reactor in, and Pepper was boss. But he also felt helpless without any line of defense in case of a surprise attack. His watch-turned-repulsor was a good start, but it was both inadequate and far too removable to be an effective defense. And Tony was determined to never feel helpless, ever again.

It was only when he saw faux-Kimoyo bracelet market blow up following the reveal of the Black Panther that the idea occurred to him. His nanotech was nowhere near as advanced as T’Challa’s, but he was getting there, and in the months since Germany he’d done what he does best. He tinkered.        

The Spider-Man beads were actually the first he’d built. His suit was smaller, more flexible, and the web-shooters easily compactible. The nanotech practically formed itself. Tony wasn’t sure what instinct it was that made him tackle Peter’s suit first, but he was glad for it. In the very least the kid would have a fighting chance of getting out of here.

The rest of the beads on his wrist were a much cruder prototype. He hadn’t even been sure as to what he’d want, so he made every bead modular; each had some version of the basics, but they would need to be edited, rewired and reprogrammed to be used. The obvious disadvantage? No magic bullet. The advantage? There was almost nothing he couldn’t build with those beads on his wrist.

“Hey, kid?”

Peter abruptly stopped speaking, probably feeding some lie to his aunt, and looked back at Tony. He seemed almost eager.

“I need your help with something. Here, away from the camera.”

Peter looked to his aunt for permission, and when she nodded he rose quickly and came to where Tony stood.

“We’re gonna build a triadic retroreflector shield. You wanna take hardware or software?”

“What? How…?”

Tony turned halfway sideways from Peter, and hands still securely tied behind his back, tossed his Kimoyo bracelet at the kid. He caught it without breaking eye-contact with Tony. He looked down to see what he was holding, then looked up, a mixture of surprise and relief on his face. He smiled, just barely.

“Uh, hardware. Definitely hardware.”

~*~

The kid was smart. Really smart. Considering his entire experience was putting together old DVD players and Atari 2600 consoles, it was a bit of a surprise that it took just one run-through of the mechanics to explain to him what needed to be done. It should take him about an hour. Tony would still need to program the units once the kid finished, but that would have to wait until his hands were free.

He left the kid in the corner of the cell, away from camera and his back to the door, and went to sit by May. Once again, he leaned against the bars that separated them, trying to remove the pressure from his shoulders. He closed his eyes and grunted a bit as he leaned back.

“Hey, Tony?” May said, gently, quietly, so Peter wouldn’t hear.

“Yeah?” He asked, without opening his eyes. God, he wanted so much to just rest, for a moment.

“You’re full of shit.”

“On my best days, yeah. What specifically, though?” He half-opened his eyes, and tilted his head towards May. He wasn’t looking at her, but it was close enough. He didn’t want to move.

“You’re not alright. I appreciate you lying to Peter and keeping him distracted, and I know you’re just trying to do what’s right by as many people as possible. But you can’t keep getting beat up like that forever. You’re barely moving, your face is, pardon me, a mess, and you’re barely taking in deep breaths. Maybe Peter doesn’t see it, but this course of action just isn’t sustainable. What happens to us—forget me, what happens to _Peter_ —when they decide they’re done torturing you? Is there a plan, here? I _need_ to keep my kid safe, Tony.”

So much for keeping the kid distracted. Tony could see Peter’s shoulders tense through his half-closed eye-lids. He was listening to their conversation. Tony chose his words carefully.

“There is a plan, May. Pete’s helping with it right now. It’s not like I set him aside with a coloring book.”

The kid dipped his head, a bit. Tony thought it might have been with a smile. He continued.

“And my first priority is keeping you and the kid safe. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but every time they drag me out of here, I get another look at this place. In the meantime, Peter’s working on something that can keep you safe, here. I would do it myself, but I’m a bit—“

“No, don’t say it,” May begged.

“—Tied up,” Tony continued, and gave May a small smirk.

“That was cheap,” she said.

Tony didn’t get a chance to respond. The kid suddenly looked up and behind him, towards the door. He unzipped his hoodie, pulled it off, and used it to gently cover the pieces he’d been working on. He stayed back, but looked back at Tony and May with worry.

“Mr. Stark, I think—“

The heavy door swung open, and Panaius walked down the hall, the same two goons by his side. Tony let out a heavy breath. This, again.

He stood up and walked to the edge of the cell.

“Stark,” Panaius greeted him, though he tilted his head to look at the kid cowering in the corner of the cell, then the other way to glance at May in her cell.

“You’re welcome for the hour’s rest, but it’s time we got back to it. You ready to talk, yet?”

“I was born ready. Did you know that I was speaking fully before I was 18 months old, but couldn’t say _daddy_ until I was almost 3? What do you think that says about me?”

Panaius rolled his eyes, but Tony could see it was with mock calm. He was getting anxious. Tony wondered if he’d promised results to someone.

“Gentlemen, just grab him. We have work to do.”

The two brutes grabbed Tony again by either arm, but he didn’t fight them. He needed to give the kid his space to finish configuring the shield that would keep them safe. Well, it would keep _May_ safe.

“Hey, Surly, Burly,” He said, looking from the guard on his left to the one on his right as they marched him down the hall towards the door and the facility beyond.

“You know I’m going to kill you, right?”

The two looked at one another, then shrugged.

He was going to kill them _hard._

They led him down the same turns, the same halls, towards the same unmarked door. Both good and disturbing. It meant they had a designated space for this sort of thing.

 Tony cooperated until they reached an intersection he recognized. Then he made his move.

Without any warning, he stepped down hard on the instep of Surly to his right, then took half a step forward and kicked behind him towards Burly’s groin. It caught them by surprise. He used their momentary distraction to duck across the intersection and push into the ladies’ room. What he saw there was _perfection_.

One narrow window, high up on the wall, maybe 25 feet up. He couldn’t reach it in a hundred years, but a spider? He’d bet a spider could.

When they came in after him, he didn’t even try to resist as Surly grabbed his head and slammed it into a nearby wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes of substance at the end of the work)
> 
> I'm happy to know if something worked or didn't work for you, or if you caught an error.  
> Comments, critiques, corrections, and comments are always welcome!


	4. Chapter 4

About four minute after they took Mr. Stark, Peter’s Spidey-sense kicked in again, except this time there were no lulls. It felt like glass was trying to work its way up through the fine hairs on his arms, and it was driving him mad.

He couldn’t tell May what was bothering him, but he couldn’t pretend he was fine, either.

For the first hour or so he managed to keep himself preoccupied with the task Mr. Stark had given him. Rewiring the elements in the Kimoyo beads wasn’t hard, once he understood what he was supposed to do. And his aunt was right, it _was_ good to have a distraction.

But as soon as he’d finished, leaving his hoodie bunched over the completed project, Peter’s sense of danger flared up again. Shouldn’t Mr. Stark be back by now?

He paced, and scratched his arms, but it did nothing to calm him. So he went to sit by May.

“Penny for your thoughts, Peter?”

May had also dragged her mattress closer to the bars. She was sitting on it, sideways to the bars, her temple resting in the space between them. She had been mostly quiet until now, allowing him to work. But Peter could tell she was also getting increasingly anxious, and he couldn’t blame her. She was probably worried sick over _him_ , even though the dangers to him weren’t what she thought.

He hadn’t even considered what might happen if he was revealed as Spider-Man, but remained captured by these people. He felt so stupid that Mr. Stark needed to point that out to him. And he felt even worse that Mr. Stark needed to do the thinking for all three of them. He had enough on his plate.

“I’m just, May, I don’t know,” Peter said, but he knew that wasn’t fair. She deserved more than that. He started again.

“I’m worried about Mr. Stark. I heard you before, May,” he said, and May sat up a little straighter.

“Oh, Peter, I didn’t mean—“

“No, it’s alright. I mean, I also saw he was in bad shape. But now… I just wish there was something I could do to help. Like he’s doing for us.”

May looked at him quizzically. Analytically.

“And what is it he’s doing for us, babe? It looks like his heart is in the right place, but… I just don’t know, Peter. I get the sense from him that he’s hiding something.”

Peter couldn’t look her in the eye, not after that. He knew full well what Mr. Stark was hiding, and he hated it that it made May distrust him. But she’d realize everything Mr. Stark was doing for them once they escaped. She must.

“Maybe,” he said. “But I trust him, May. He’s Iron Man. And even when I’m working on internship stuff with him, he’s always making sure we’re safe. Like, really making sure. Don’t worry, May, we’re gonna get out of here.”

May smiled sadly, but all she said was, “Come here. Closer, I’m gonna give you a kiss.”

Peter leaned in, and let her plant a kiss on the top of his head. He sat back, facing her from across the bars.

They fell silent after that.

Peter sat with May, and eventually she started nodding. Peter’s Spidey-sense was still going off the charts, but he’d managed to ignore it until now and he thought he had it under control. But a few minutes after May fell asleep he felt a surge of _danger!_ so powerful he’d been momentarily paralyzed. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe through it, his hands curled into fists. His nails dug into his skin.

He shut his eyes tightly and buried his head in his knees as another surge hit him.

What the hell was happening? And where was Mr. Stark?

~*~

In the end, just one guard ended up returning Mr. Stark to the cell. Peter couldn’t see why, at first, since it seemed that Mr. Stark’s arms were finally free. Surely he’d be considered more of a threat that way?

But then his brain caught up to what his eyes registered. No, no, no nononono _._

_No._

Peter rose to his feet. It felt like his heart was taking minutes between beats. Like each breath was filling his lungs with vacuum.

There was just one guard because Mr. Stark wasn’t moving, at all. The whole side of his face was now an ugly purple, his skin deathly pale underneath, and his hair matted down with sweat. But what made Peter’s heart physically heavy and his stomach coil was the blood.

It was everywhere.

The entirety of Mr. Stark’s blue t-shirt was soaked through in blood. The white letters that read _Ziggy Stardust_ were now a dark, shining brown. The blood stained everything, down both his legs and across his chest and down his arms.

“No,” he whispered. He’d been too cowardly to do anything before, and he let Mr. Stark take charge and decide to face these psychos on his own, and now… His mind refused to process what he was seeing. It couldn’t be. Mr. Stark said, he _said_ he had no intention of—

The guard opened the door to their cell, took half a step in, and threw Mr. Stark to the ground. He didn’t move, not a muscle, not a twitch. He lay prone where the guard tossed him. Peter’s eyes were on Mr. Stark, but he jumped a little, startled, when he heard a small crash. The guard had thrown 3 bottles of water on the floor beside him. Then, wordlessly, he turned and left.

Before the guard was through the heavy door Peter was kneeling by Mr. Stark’s side, turning him over gently. Immediately, he could feel that Mr. Stark was alive. His pulse was steady beneath Peter’s hands.

But the damage up close was so much worse than Peter had thought. Mr. Stark had been stabbed all over, but he’d guessed that by the rivulets of blood. His sleeves were pulled up above his elbows, and Peter could see long cuts running down the length of his arms, from the nook of the elbow does to the wrist. The cuts were still bleeding. But what Peter didn’t expect to see was a dozen, large, sharp metal darts still _inside him._

He didn’t know what to do.

He was afraid to move him, and make things worse. But he couldn’t just leave him there, injured _because of him_ , to bleed out on the cold floor of this stupid stupid _goddamned_ cell.

Peter felt a familiar pressure build behind his eyes, but he wouldn’t allow himself to cry. Not now. For once, he needed to man-up in this whole thing.

So he lifted Mr. Stark, and as softly as he could he set him down on the mattress besides the bars. Then he reached over Mr. Stark and urgently, grabbed May by the forearm.

“May, May!”

Despite his resolution, Peter could feel the tears forming. He swiped at his eyes. He just—he couldn’t let also Mr. Stark die, not if he could have stopped it—it was too much to even consider, but he couldn’t really avoid it, either. Not with the man bleeding maybe to death because he was trying to protect him.

May came to with a start, and Peter could tell it took her a moment to recognize where she was. When her eyes landed on Mr. Stark all the confusion left her face.

“Oh, God,” she said, and turned to face Peter, kneeling as close to the bars as she could get. She looked over Mr. Stark, and Peter knew the exact second she saw the darts still protruding from his thighs, his chest, his arms. She didn’t even gasp; she took in one, deep breath, her mouth hanging slightly open. Then she snapped out of it, and Peter found he was actually grateful she was here with them.

“Okay, Peter? Pete? Look at me,” she said, her tone calm. In control. It felt like his reaction time was cut down by a million. Like he was moving through Jell-O. He raised his eyes to look at May, his hands still hovering uncertainly above his lap. They had blood on them.

“Listen to me. This isn’t as bad as it looks. Alright? There’s _a lot_ of blood, but if he’d been stabbed somewhere serious he’d have died by now. They left him like this to scare us, but we’re— _you’re_ —gonna help him, okay?”

Yeah. That sounded like a good plan. It wasn’t so bad. May said it wasn’t so bad.

“Peter, _okay?”_ May asked again, and Peter realized that he hadn’t answered her. He swallowed. He nodded. He remembered his resolution to man-up and said, “Yeah.”

May nodded, keeping her eyes on his. “Good. Now listen, first we need to stop those cuts on his arms from bleeding, alright? Those look to be the deepest. Do you have anything to put pressure on them with?”

Peter did. He went to grab his hoodie from the corner of the room. He’d risk someone seeing the Kimoyo beads.

“Great,” May said. She looked down at Mr. Stark, then asked, “Any chance you can tear off a sleeve or something? That way we can do both arms at once.”

Peter turned the hoodie inside-out, and pretended to fuss at the seam of the sleeve for a moment. Then he tore it off effortlessly. He handed it to May, and tore off the other sleeve for himself.

“Press down as hard as you can, okay? Next to the elbow. It looks like that’s where it’s deepest,” May said. She leaned through the bars and pressed against the arm that was closest to her.

Peter pressed down with all his strength. He felt the bones in Mr. Stark’s arms grinding beneath his hands. _Too hard_. He could tell that the cloth was becoming wet beneath his hands; it began slipping a bit through his fingers. He pressed little harder. They stayed like that for long minutes. Peter had no idea how long it took to stop bleeding on a wound like this, and he was afraid to move before he knew for certain the bleeding had stopped.

After about fifteen minutes, May risked a glance. She gently lifted the torn sleeve she was using as a bandage and looked beneath it.

“A little more,” was all she said.

Peter’s fingers were getting tingly, his legs were already fast asleep, but he didn’t dare wriggle them. He didn’t dare move. He sat there, kneeling next to Mr. Stark, and looking anywhere else. Mr. Stark had been right. Of course he was. This was on him.

The next time May looked under the makeshift bandage she looked relieved.

“I think that’s enough. Let’s tie these around his arms, and then get to those darts,” she said.

It took Peter a moment to comply. Part of his was still afraid to move, afraid to see the damage underneath. But May had already finished bandaging the other arm. So he carefully, tentatively, gently removed the sleeve, and he almost collapsed with relief when he saw the bleeding had stopped. The gash was ugly and deep, but it had stopped bleeding. He tied off the sleeve around Mr. Starks forearm, then looked to May.

“Should we… Take these out?” He asked, pointing at the darts. “Or are you supposed to keep them in?” God, why was he so useless? He’s supposed to be Spider-Man.

May wiped her hands on her jeans, absently. They left bloody marks.

“You’re supposed to keep knives in, but these are shallow. I think we can remove them. Let’s just keep an eye on the bleeding, yeah?”

Peter nodded.

But the _we_ ended up being _he_ , because May couldn’t reach the darts.

Peter swallowed back bile as he removed the first dart from Mr. Stark’s arm. He could feel the resistance of flesh give way to the sleek metal, and he thought he’d be sick. The long, pointed tip had been buried all the way, like it was been pushed in—or thrown—with force. Peter pulled up Mr. Stark’s sleeve a little more, and he saw a thin droplet of blood pooling where the dart had been. He pressed his now-sleeveless hoodie against the point for a few minutes, until May told him to stop.

He removed another dart from that arm, then three more from the other. He swallowed hard every time he heard the slick metallic _slurp_ of blood against metal.

He assumed that Mr. Stark would crush his skull with his bare Iron Man hands if he was as thorough with his legs, so as he pulled the darts there he just pressed down through his jeans. Peter wondered how much force a regular person had to exert to pierce through denim and flesh. How long it would take. The thought made him look away from what he was doing, for a moment, but it didn’t help. He still felt nauseous.

He pulled out all the darts that pierced Mr. Stark’s torso, and by then he couldn’t help it. When one of the darts scratched against the bone of Mr. Stark’s ribs he pulled back abruptly, the dart in hand, and stumbled to the toilet. His mind wanted to be sick, but his body refused. He coughed and gagged.

“Peter, sweetie, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but you have to come finish,” May said, and of course she was right. Peter ground his teeth to drown out the feel of the dart chafing bone. He went back and finished removing the last of the darts. Under May’s instruction lifted his shirt as best he could to apply pressure to the wounds.

May gave a sickened gasp, and Peter froze. Mr. Stark’s chest was a painted nightmare of yellow and purple and red. His ribs looked swollen, and everything else looked horribly bruised. Little red droplets of blood popped up where the darts had been like gruesome mushrooms after a rainfall.

He wished he could, but Peter didn’t have—no, he didn’t _deserve_ the luxury of looking away.  He applied pressure to Mr. Stark.

“Honey, he’s going to be okay,” May said, but she didn’t really sound like she believed it.

Peter knew this only happened to Mr. Stark because he’d been protecting him, protecting his secret. He’d seen the different hardware elements in the beads of that bracelet. He knew that Mr. Stark could have built a repulsor, or some kind of weapon, almost anything to get himself out of here ages ago. Even if there were tons of armed guards beyond the door, Mr. Stark was trained enough to have gotten past them. Peter had seen him fight.

He moved his hands up Mr. Stark’s chest, to apply pressure to some more of the tiny stab wounds. He couldn’t let this go further. And it wasn’t like Mr. Stark was in any condition to stop him. Next time those guys came in here, they’d be dealing with Spider-Man.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes of substance at the end of the work)
> 
> I'm happy to know if something worked or didn't work for you, or if you caught an error.  
> Comments, critiques, corrections, and comments are always welcome!


	5. Chapter 5

Tony woke up without the grace of temporarily forgetting where he was. It surprised him, because he vividly he remembered being held by Surly and Burly as Panaius slowly pushed dart after dart into him, hissing _tell me!_ with increasing intensity every time Tony refused. Or laughed.

Not that there was anything truly amusing about the hours ( _if he got out of here he would blast that clock to pieces_ ) he’d spent in that room. But he’d been forced to hold his own car battery as he’d been tortured in cave an Afghanistan. It _was_ a little funny that Panaius thought he could force Tony to do anything.

But he hadn’t been sure he’d make it out of that room alive, so this was a nice surprise. He was lying on his back and his hands were no longer tied, which was practically Christmas. But if he was being honest, it was kinda up there with the Christmas he’d been attacked by terrorists and Pepper became a Jack-O-Lantern. He didn’t remember that hurting so bad, though.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, as he brought a hand up to protect his eyes from the light overhead as he opened them.

“My aunt is sleeping right there, Mr. Stark. I think that might be weird,” the kid said, and Tony dropped his hands and looked up. The voice sounded like it came from straight above him, which could only be true if… He were lying in the kids lap. Yeah, _no_.

Tony rolled over and sat up, avoiding using his arms. The memory of being cut was still visceral. He folded his arms around himself.

“Yeah, _that’s_ why it would be weird,” Tony said, groaning slightly as he took his own weight.

“So, why were we having a cuddle? And how long was I ou—are you _bleeding_? What the hell happened?”

The kid was covered in blood. It was on his face, his tee, his legs; his hands were a sickening shade of pink with it.

Tony reached over to tilt the kid’s head to check for injury, but Peter just waved him away.

“Nothing happened. I’m fine. It’s… It’s not mine.”

Oh. He didn’t really know how to react to that.

“How long was I out?”

“Um, I’m not sure how long you were gone for,” Peter began,

( _three hours and twenty two minutes until he passed out, on the clock_ )

“But they brought you back a while ago. Six hours, maybe?”

So it was probably early morning. Christ, he’d been out of it for too long. He looked over at May, who was still sleeping, and decided it was likely now or never.

Tony rose with an effort and went to the corner, away from May. He couldn’t risk her overhearing them. The kid followed, stopping along the way to grab something from the floor near the mattress. When he caught up with Tony he extended a bottle of water, thought better of it, and instead twisted off the cap before handing him the bottle again.

“Here, they brought us water. May said I should tell you to drink when you woke up.”

Tony was going to say something about being told to drink like a child, and about the kid twisting off the cap for him, but… to hell with it. His arms felt weak, he was dizzy, and he’d lost blood. He could use the drink.

Instead, he asked, “Did you sleep at all?” He kept an eye on the kid as lifted the bottle and took a sip.

Peter shrugged a little. “I wasn’t tired, Mr. Stark,” he said, but he didn’t meet Tony’s eye.

It was a straightforward lie, Tony knew. But he didn’t have time to unpack that with the kid just now.

“Yeah, okay _._ Whatever, we can hash that out later, Liar. Now, I need to ask you again, and it’s totally fine to back out, no hard feelings, you can always change your mind, ‘no means no.’”

Tony caught the kid’s eye, then asked.

“Are you still Spider-Man?”

The kid looked relieved. Tony had not expected that. He looked _eager_.

“ _Yes_.”

“Alrighty,” Tony said, and nodded once. It was time to explain to the kid what was next, but now that he actually came to it, he hesitated. He knew that Panaius was coming undone, his attacks growing increasingly savage, and that he would probably not survive another round with him, Surly and Burly. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d survived the last round, if he was being perfectly honest with himself. He hurt, in a deeper way than he ever had. It was everything, everywhere. Every breath, every blink, every word caused a flair of agony.

He looked at the kid. Peter’s arms crossed over his chest, looking back at Tony expectantly. Tony stalled a bit.

“You finish refitting the retroreflector?”

“Oh, yeah. Ages ago,” Peter said, and pointed to where the elements were on the ground. Tony took the excuse to sit and examine them.

He lowered himself to the floor, breathing a little heavier than he would have liked, and grabbed one of the newly refitted beads. He moved to examine it more closely, but he couldn’t quite bring his hand close enough.

With an annoyed _tsk_ he pulled at the makeshift bandages around his forearms and tossed them aside. He opened the bead to inspect it.

“You doubled the lens elements?” Tony asked, looking back at the kid.  “ _How?_ ”

Peter looked a little startled. “I saw the DLP was built for a much more powerful projection than we’d need? So I diverted from there…? The elements were so easy to use, it wasn’t hard to figure out how. But I can put it back, if you want,” the kid added, his hands extended as though to take back the bead.

Tony waved him away. “Nah, this is good.” He put down the bead, and while he looked over the others he began talking. He found he couldn’t look directly at the kid as he spoke. He looked instead at May, who was still sleeping.

“Next time those guys come in, I’m gonna suggest they take you, instead of me.” He raised his eyes to check Peter’s reaction, for any fear or second thoughts he was afraid to voice. But the kid was looking back at him, steadfastly calm. He nodded.

It would have made Tony a little happier if the kid were visibly nervous. Sending him out there with those psychos, willingly, made it feel like he _was_ sacrificing him.

But he had no other options. So he just explained to the kid where they would be taking him, where the cameras would be, and most importantly, how to get out.

“Remember, you do not come back in here without one of my suits. You get that?”

Peter paused a beat too long before he nodded. It didn’t put Tony’s mind at ease.

“I’m serious, kid. And when…” Tony glanced back at May, then lowered his voice.

“When they take you, you gotta sell it. I know it would take a lot more than those guys to really do anything to you, but _they_ don’t know that. So until you’re alone and ready to make your move, be what they expect you to be. A scared 16 year old kid.”

Peter looked at May now, too, and his expression became worried.

“We should have a code,” he said.

“Um, what now?”

“A code,” Peter repeated, and looked back at Tony. He seemed to table that worry, and was almost excited, now.

“Like, so even though I’m “selling it,” like you said, you’ll know I’m not really backing out.”

“How about I just believe you that you won’t back out?” Tony asked, and he was getting a little exasperated with the kid, but he was also a little grateful. It was good to see him looking a little more lively than he had since they were brought here. More like himself.

When he spoke, Peter looked so happy it was like he’d found a secret tunnel out of here. But Tony had no ideas what he was saying.

“I could, like, quote something. The Doctor!” Peter said.

“Who?”

“Exactly!”

 “What?” What was the kid even saying?

“How about we don’t have a code, and _that_ can be our secret code, alright? And before I forget, there’s a protocol you have to engage once you put on the suit. It’s—“

Just then May woke with a start, though, calling for Peter.

“Here,” Tony said, and pushed the kid ahead of him as they returned to May.

“How you feeling?” May asked him as he sat down.

“Like an angry pin-cushion. You?”

“Like a worried aunt.”

Tony smiled mirthlessly. He had nothing to say to that. He finished his water, and shooed the kid aside so he’d have room to lie down on his back.

He had some programming to do.

Tony closed his eyes, and _thought_.

~*~

It was some time later that Panaius returned, his two trusty thugs by his side. Tony had just about outlined the steps he’d need to take to activate the shield, and it wouldn’t take long now to implement them. But first… First he had to be his worst possible self.

He sat up, but didn’t step forward this time, as Panaius walked up to the cell door. He said nothing.

Peter, he saw, took a few steps forward. His heart felt like it was beating hard inside a hollow chest.

“Ah, Stark, you’re looking much more vibrant than when I left you last night. Excellent,” he said, clapping his hands. “Just in time for more fun.”

“Fuck you, Panaius. I’m done,” Tony said, but he couldn’t avoid looking to the pile of bloody darts not far from him. He breathed deeply.

“Oh, I’m sorry, _you’re_ done?” Panaius laughed incredulously. “That’s cute. You don’t get to decide when we’re done, I do. And I won’t say so until _you give me what I want._ You must realize I’m only getting started.”

Tony stood, but he didn’t move any closer. “And you must realize that there’s nothing you can do to me to make me talk. Better men than you have tried.”

Tony tilted his head, and raised an eyebrow as he reconsidered.

“Well, not better, probably about the same. But they had better methods. You won’t get anything from me, Jeremy.” He said the man’s name with as much contempt as he could muster. It was enough.

Panaius’ mouth became a narrow line. He licked his lips. Then he said, “You’re right. You, get the woman.”

Peter turned to Tony, panicked, helpless. May scrambled to her feet, and stood with fists at her side. She looked ready to fight. Tony laughed and crossed his arms. He swiveled towards May. He kept the smile from turning to a grimace of pain.

“That’s not going to work again, you goddamned amateur. I just don’t give a fuck anymore.”

The guard began to unlock May’s cell.

“Besides, even if she knows something, you’re never going to get it out of her as long as she’s protecting _him_ ,” Tony said, nodding towards Peter.

Then he looked straight at Panaius. How could he do this? How was he justifying this? All his reasons seemed so incredibly weak right now. But the next thing he said was in a carefully maintained dickwad tone.

“If you want to get her to talk you’ll...” Tony worked his jaw for a moment, trying to will the words out.

“You’ll take the kid.”

Tony turned his back on them all, and walked to the far end of the cell, where he leaned on the corner of the wall and the bars. He crossed his arms a little deeper despite the raw flesh on his forearms, so Panaius wouldn’t see his hands shaking.

Everyone was silent. May looked, in horror, from him to Panaius. Peter was looking down at the ground, probably waiting to see how things go. Tony forced himself to smirk.

Then May found her voice. _Thank God._

“No—NO! I’ll come with you, don’t you _touch_ him, I’ll tell you what you want to know,” May said, desperately. It seemed to decide Panaius.

“Huh. I think Stark is right, May. He _was_ valedictorian, you know. Grab the kid.” Surly—or Burly—turned from May’s cell to their own.

Tony maintained his carefree pose, but only because he was frozen in place. His heart was hammering. If he had to move he would collapse. May was screaming at him what the fuck was he doing, at Panaius to take her, at Surly not to touch the kid, and at Peter to come to her.

Peter looked like he’d been caught in headlights. Like shit suddenly got very real, very fast.

The lock of the cell opened with a _click_ that somehow was heard over May’s shouts. It seemed to drive the kid to action.

He launched himself at Tony, and clung to him with both hands crying “No, Mr. Stark, please, don’t let them take me!”

Tony wanted to die. Just… To drop dead. To have this be someone else’s problem. Blood was rushing by his ears and he thought his vision swam. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, or with the kid, and he wished desperately they _had_ decided on a code. Because he was about to fold. Since when did he sacrifice kids to madmen?

The kid looked up at him, and clinging even closer whispered, “What protocol?”

It couldn’t have been more than half a second, but it felt to Tony that it took an hour to wrap his head around what the kid said. The suit. He’d never told the kid what emergency protocol to launch once outside.

He also realized that the kid was a much better actor than he’d thought. He pulled him closer, and whispered in his ear.

“Get off me,” Tony said, and shoved him straight into Surly. Peter looked back at Tony, and Tony realized he might have been wrong. Maybe the kid wasn’t acting. Because he shot Tony a look of such hurt, such _contempt_ ; and he was facing Tony, so only Tony could see it. That look wasn’t meant for the others, it was meant for _him._

Surly grabbed Peter by the shoulders, and swung him around toward the door of the cell.

Panaius _tsk_ ed loudly. “Not yet,” he said.

“Stark, hold the kid.”

Tony stood straight.

“What?”

“Hold the kid while we tie him. You’re the one who suggested this, it’s a bit late to get squeamish.”

But he was squeamish. He was nauseous. May was sobbing on the floor and the kid was still glaring at him, and he tried to focus but all he could think of was _you fight for you_ over and over again                .

But he was nothing if not committed. Maybe he was just nothing.

He walked up to Peter and grabbed him by the shoulders, his face locked in indifference. Peter didn’t resist, but he shook his head in disgust when Tony touched him. Surly grabbed his arms, roughly, and pulled them behind his back. When he pulled on the second set of zip-ties, just below Peter’s elbows, the kid winced in pain. Tony dug his fingers into the kid’s shoulders to stop himself from attacking the guard.

Surly looked back to Panaius, but he shook his head for _no_ , again. He locked eyes with Tony.

“Now hit him.”

May cried out, reaching through the bars, laughably unable to do anything, but trying nonetheless to stop what was happening.

Tony was glad his face was obscured by bruises and cuts. He swallowed. “No.”

Panaius moved closer as he spoke, stepping into the cell and standing alongside Surly and Peter. He pointed wildly at Tony.

“Listen to me, you entitled, arrogant, little asshole. I knew who you were from the beginning. _What_ you were. And now you’re going to show these people, too. You will hit the kid, and you’ll do it for as long as I tell you to. You’re _mine_ now. Maybe I’ll even have you put those darts to good use. And when I’m done with the boy, you can have back his broken body. Maybe then you and that stupid bitch will be ready to talk.

“ _SHUT THE FUCK UP!”_ Panaius screamed suddenly, turning on May. She just kept begging him to not do this.

He turned back to Tony, totally calm, as though he hadn’t just lost it.

“Now please, hit him.”

Tony looked to Peter, still held in place by Surly’s beefy hands. The longer he stalled the angrier Panaius would get. The higher the chance he’d make good on his thread about the darts. Tony couldn't help but glance to where they were, in a pile on the floor. He wouldn’t be able to do that to Peter. He’d rather go through that himself, again. He’d refuse, Panaius would likely just kill them all. Everything they’d endured for the last day would have been for nothing.

Tony couldn’t breathe. He walked up to Peter as he drew back his fist, and threw a jab to his stomach. Peter grunted and folder over… but was it a millisecond too late? Like the hit hadn’t really affected him? Tony stepped back quickly, as though that could distance him from what he’d done.

The strain, however, was too much for Tony’s arm. It began bleeding again.

“Come on, put your back into it, Iron Man. The kid should know who you really are,” Panaius said, but he walked out of the cell. He didn’t really care about any of this, Tony realized. But he would make him beat up on this kid just to make a point? Suddenly he had anger he could channel.

He went over to the kid again, and this time he hit him _hard_. Peter lost his footing, he practically crumbled, though he was kept upright by the guard behind him. He cried out, no, _whimpered_ as he struggled to fold in on himself.

Tony stood back, his fist still curled, blood dripping across his curled fingers and onto the floor.

He couldn’t move.

Panaius laughed.

“There, we go. Now let’s see if the boys want to play with him, too. Let’s go,” he said, and turned on his heel. Surly dragged a still-coughing Peter after him. Burly locked the cell door, and turned to leave, as well.

May had moved to the front of the cell, screaming _Peter, no_ over and over and over again. When they disappeared through the heavy door at the end of the hall, she sank to her knees, sobbing, taking in deep gasping breaths.

( _You fight only for you)_

Tony didn’t move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes of substance at the end of the work)
> 
> I'm happy to know if something worked or didn't work for you, or if you caught an error.  
> Comments, critiques, corrections, and comments are always welcome!


	6. Chapter 6

Peter let them drag him away, pretending to struggle a bit along the way, but mostly he took the time to think.

What the hell had happened back there? Mr. Stark’s reaction was weird. Not only had he known what was going to happen, it was his idea. He even told Peter to “sell it.” He’d tried his best, without scaring Aunt May too much. He knew that May would be upset—hell, that she’d freak out—and he hated seeing her like that. It was, he knew, another thing that he’d screwed up.

But he’d seen how reluctant Tony had been to hold him while they were tying his arms, and he felt his fingers dig into him when he’d been unable to play it cool when the goon had done the second pair of zip-ties. He saw murder in Tony’s eyes when he looked at the guard who had done it. Peter sighed. Something else he could add to the list of things he’d done to hurt Mr. Stark, who was _still_ trying to protect him.

When Panaius threatened him with the darts he’d been scared. The threat sounded real. And if Mr. Stark—who knew Panaius much better than he, and was actually his victim until just a few hours ago—thought that the threat was real, too, Peter trusted him. He’d much rather be hit a couple of times than risk… _that_. He wasn’t as brave as Tony. He didn’t think he’d be able to bounce back from that.

They turned what was, according to Peter’s count, the final corner before their destination, when Peter’s senses were assaulted by an overpowering stench. It overtook him and he could _taste_ it, wet and metallic and—

It was too much. Peter arched his back, then threw up.

The guard holding him dropped him, and took a step back. He kneeled in the dark hallway, heaving and vomiting water onto the floor. When he was done he spat, trying to get rid of the metallic flavor, but it was still there. He looked up at Panaius, who was standing down the hall, by the door to the room Tony said they’d take him.

“Disgusting,” Panaius said, shaking his head. “You, clean that up. You, bring him inside.”

Peter was dragged to his feet and past a third guard who stood outside the room. The door closed and locked behind him. The thug let him go and went to stand in the corner of the room.

There was blood everywhere. Tony’s blood. It was congealed, which somehow made it more gruesome. Like it was permanent décor. It was in several large puddles on the floor. It was splashed across the walls. It was even smeared onto the table and the chair Panaius was holding out to him. The odor was even worse in the closed room. Peter swallowed down on bile.

“Come, have a seat.”

Peter shook his head. Like he was going to sit in a crusted pool of Mr. Stark’s blood? Over his dead body.

Panaius sighed and shook his head.

“My dear, dear boy… Remind me your name?”

“Peter.” His voice was small. Weak. Perfect.

“Well, _Peter_ ,” Panaius said, and then lunged at him. Panaius pushed Peter until his arms slammed against the wall behind him, his hands bunched into the front of Peter’s t-shirt.

“You’re going to learn to do as you’re told. Because there is no endgame, for you. You were never supposed to be here, you idiot little mongrel, and you’re going to be the first one I kill unless you learn to behave. If I could make Tony Stark scream, think what I could do to you. Do you know what it feels like to learn obedience? You won’t like it.”

He let go of Peter, took a few steps back, and gestured at the chair magnanimously.

“I said _sit_.”

Peter straightened, and stole a glance at the guard. He was standing about 6 feet away. Might as well have been in another room.

“Hey, buddy?” He asked, his head low.

“ _What_ did you just call me?” Panaius snapped, impatiently.

Peter looked up.

“Do you know what it feels like to be hit in the chest by a ton of bricks?”

There was a loud _twang_ as two sets of zip-ties broke.

“You won’t like it.”

~*~

Tony stood, staring at the door, until it shut and locked. His arm was still bleeding, but it felt like the least of his concerns. What had he done? The betrayal on the kid’s face, the way he’d almost collapsed after Tony had… had hit him. It wasn’t fair. Tony felt like a reverse Midas; he already had all the gold he wanted, but somehow everything he touched turned to shit. Everyone he tried to protect, he ended up hurting. Every single time.

He glanced over to where May was sobbing into her hands at the edge of her cell, as though to be closer to Peter. He wanted to talk to her, but it would have to wait. He’d promised Peter he’d keep her safe, and that was one part of the plan, at least, that Tony hadn’t managed to fuck up, yet.

He went back to the corner where the components of his Kimoyo bracelet lay. He grabbed the makeshift bandages he’d tossed aside earlier—was this the kid’s sweatshirt?—and with his back to May, he took the first of the components, opened it, and manipulated the edges until a light blue keyboard appeared in the air above it. Tony took a moment to make sure he had the entire algorithmic structure in his mind. There was no input-display, so he’d have to get this right the first time, or start from scratch. He began typing furiously against the ghostly light. They probably didn’t have long.

_The relay was working—but no, better to rewrite the subdirectory of vectors into each component._

He input dimensions, distances and spherical angles as quickly as he could. This would not be his best work, but it would get the job done.

“You’re a monster.”

He didn’t turn to May, didn’t acknowledge she’d spoken. There was very little room for error. He measured the cell again in his mind, and decided to requantify the variables. Just in case.

“He trusted you. He looked up to you. And you let—no, you _made_ —those psychos take him. You’re a _coward._ ” He could hear the tears in her voice, but it didn’t waver.

He snapped the second component shut and moved on to the last one.

“Ever since you came into his life, he hasn’t been the same. He’s lying, and sneaking out, and he quit band and… God, all the symptoms were there, my boy was in distress because of _you_ and I did nothing.”

Tony pulled up his keypad, and ran through all the elements again. _A tree? It’s the best data structure for this._ He wrote one as he went. _Two? No, three nodes._

“God,” May continued, “he was so worried about you last night. He was so scared, and gentle and worried. It _broke him_ when you sold him out to those monsters. Well, those _other_ monsters, right?”

Tony snapped the last bead shut, and connected all three back onto their Vibranium chain. He took a moment to test that they were working as they should.

“And when you hit him? Tell me, _Tony_ , did you enjoy it? Did it make you feel powerful to beat the crap out of a kid who’s barely 16?”

Less than 5% error. That’d do.

“It’s true what they say. You’re just a bully who fights for himself. You’re a selfish asshole who—“

Tony stood and spun to face May.

“Now you’re just reading from my Wikipedia page. I didn’t know the WiFi was up,” Tony said, fingers of one hand gesturing in the general direction of the ether. His word were light, but his tone was short, clipped. He didn’t move, but he looked directly at May, silently challenging her to continue.

After a moment he said, “Listen, May, I know you don’t trust me right now, but please believe this: everything I’ve done has been to protect Peter.” She didn’t immediately interrupt him, which he took for a good sign. He continued.

“I found a way out,” he said, “and I convinced Peter to make a run for it. But for that to happen those guys needed to take him out of this room.”

May took a deep breath, and held it. She seemed unsure of what to do with the hope he’d just given her.

“By now he should have made it out and called for backup. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you, but Panaius needed to believe that dragging Peter out of here was his idea, not mine.”

He stepped closer to the bars, where May now stood. She took a small step closer, as well.

“You’re not bullshitting me, Stark?”

“I wouldn’t. Not about this.”

Tony held up the bracelet.

“But Peter only agreed to go, to get out of here and _not come back,_ on the promise that I’d keep you safe. If Peter got out, that means I have an Iron Man suit trying to blast its way in here. I’m gonna take the fight out of here, but I won’t be able to protect you and bring these guys down at the same time. That’s why I want you to wear this. It’s a shield—it won’t block a fist, but it will basically hide you from anyone looking in here. All you have to do is activate it, and stay still and quiet in…”

Tony looked around.

“In that corner of your cell,” he said, pointing. It had the best lighting for the retroreflectors to work.

“Do you understand?”

 _Please say yes._ Tony would hate himself if it came to that, but he wouldn’t hesitate to knock her out if it was the only way to keep her quiet. He knew that, whatever else he had done, Peter would never forgive him if something happened to his aunt.

But May seemed to get it. She nodded, and extended her hand for the bracelet. Tony clasped it around her wrist, showed her how to activate it, and told her to wait for his signal before doing so.

She retreated to the corner Tony had pointed out to her, and Tony half-sat-half-collapsed. He was so tired. He was so hurt. And he’d managed to alienate the very people he was trying so hard to protect.

Par for the course, he supposed.

~*~

Peter lunged at Panaius’ chest. He felt bone but only for a moment, before sternum gave beneath fists with a sad little _crack_. Peter used his momentum to push himself up and then slide beneath Panaius’ legs and shove him from the back, right into the charging brute who had come to his rescue.

“Here, hold that for me, will you?” Peter said, as he flipped onto the metal table, and leapt from there onto the back of the guard. He activated his web-shooters while he was midair, and it was as though a blindfold had been removed, or his ears unplugged. He could be _him_ again.

Peter landed on the guard, and gave three swift punches to his head, then launched off and hung off the ceiling. Panaius had been lowered to the ground, where he was gasping for breath and clutching his chest. The guard had fallen to his knees, dazed.

Peter wouldn’t even need the web-shooters, not for this.

He leaped down to the floor, landing easily between the two men. Panaius offered little resistance and Peter dragged him closer to the guard.

“This is probably going to hurt. Sorrynotsorry, guys,” he said, and slammed their heads together.

They collapsed.

Peter found a patch of wall with no blood on it, and leaned against it. He hadn’t been prepared for _how much relief_ he’d feel at having active web-shooters, again. For a second, he thought how much suffering might have been averted for Mr. Stark had he been allowed to be Spider-Man from the get-go. 

Mr. Stark, whose blood was literally on his hands, crawling up his nose and down his throat. He needed to get out of here and make things right.

He activated the suit. The feeling was so odd, he had to double-check that he was wearing it. Because it felt like a second skin was crawling over his, engulfing him, but in the nicest way possible. He knew he should have felt creeped out or claustrophobic, but he felt neither. It fit perfectly, the filter already working to reduce the olfactory input from the putrid room.

He hopped lightly onto the table and moved aside one of the foam ceiling tiles. He crawled until he was past the door to the room, and the removed another tile. Beneath him was the guard who was stationed outside, as well as the other goon who had been tasked with cleaning up Peter’s sick. They were chatting quietly outside the door.

“Yeah, I guess I should go in there, but Jesus. Cleaning up after kids is not what I signed up for, you know?”

 _“_ Oh, just torture, then? Good to know you guys have professional standards,” Peter said, then shot two webs, and _yanked_. Both the guards rose with a yelp. Peter knocked them out, then dumped them in the room with Panaius and his guard. He webbed them to one another, and climbed up through the ceiling again.

It took a several minutes to find the right hallway, even with Mr. Stark’s instructions. This place was a maze. He dropped down and silently entered the girl’s bathroom. Peter didn’t think that anyone had seen him.

Inside, just like Tony had said, was a narrow window pretty high up. Peter made certain all the stalls were empty before he began to climb, and within moments he was level with the window. Tony hadn’t been sure if the glass was reinforced, but Peter had assured him he’d be able to break in, even if it was. He’d done it before, after all.

But it wasn’t. The window wasn’t even locked. Peter opened it and slipped outside.

It was midday and nice out. Peter looked around, then pulled his masked up a bit just so he could breathe some fresh air. It felt good.

He was on a roofed area, part of a larger complex that looked enormous. He’d have never found his way out of here on his own, he was certain. He walked along the edge of the roof until he found a large water tank of some sort, attached to some solar panels. He sat down beneath it, effectively hidden from any prying eyes.

“Um, Karen?” He asked. Mr. Stark had said the suit was prototype, and he wasn’t sure whether Karen had made the cut. He also wasn’t sure how to launch a protocol without her.

“Hi, Peter,” Karen said brightly. “What are we up to, today?”

Peter really wasn’t going to cry, but he knew that if he’d wanted to, he could. There was something so normal and carefree about Karen, something he’d forgotten somehow in the hours he’d been taken.

“Man, Karen, is it good to hear your voice. I missed you!” Peter said. “Uh, I need to launch a protocol in this new suit. Do you know how to do that?”

“Sure. Just give me the name of the protocol, and I’ll run it, if you’ve got authorization for it.”

Oh. That was simple enough. Except he didn’t want to give the name of the protocol out loud. He thought he’d hidden it pretty well from Mr. Stark, but he hated the name. It was so… humiliating.

Of course, there was no time for that now.

“Okay, Karen. I’m not sure what this does, but… Run Protocol… Boss Baby.”

“Sure, Peter. This protocol will give you access to Mr. Stark’s AI, FRIDAY. I’ll be active in the background, but you’ll communicate with her until the protocol is terminated. Talk to you later, Peter,” Karen said, and then the comms went dead.

“Uh, Karen?”

“I’m afraid not,” a new voice said, with a gentle accent Peter had trouble identifying. It was nice.

“Are you FRIDAY?”

“That’s right, Boss Baby. I’m Mr. Stark’s AI, but you’ve been authorized to access my full database and all command functions, in case of emergency.”

“Oh, well, it’s an emergency. Um, Mr. Stark needs a suit. Can you send one? I don’t know where we are. Do you know where we are? Is there a tracker in this? Oh—Mr. Stark said something about backup. Can you call backup? Like, the police or the FBI or someone? Mr. Stark and my aunt are still trapped in there, by some crazy corporate psychos? Panaius, but I’m not really sure who he is.”

God, he was such a rambling mess. He barely understood what he was asking for, and he’d been living this mess for the last day or so.

“A suit is already on the way, Boss Baby. It should be here in just a few minutes. I’ve alerted local law-enforcement as well as the FBI. You’re at PanaiTech’s largest factory in the northeast, in Yonkers. Should I alert Colonel Rhodes? He is currently at the Avengers Facility, and could be here within 15 minutes.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” Big guns on their side was always a good idea. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

“Should I alert Captain America? He is currently in Libya and could be here within 21 hours. I’m asking for good measure, but I highly recommend _not_ notifying him at this time.”

“Whatever you think,” Peter said. He knew the situation with Mr. Stark and Captain America was weird, and he had no desire to get in the middle of that.

“You’re really smart,” he added.

“Thanks, Boss Baby.”

“Can you not call me that? Maybe, just, Peter?”

“No can do. I’m written to respond specifically to the Boss Baby Protocol, Boss.

“Baby.”

Did she just...? There was no way. Peter shook his head. He was sixteen, not six.

Peter chatted with FRIDAY for a few more moments, when he saw a speck of glare in the midmorning sun get increasingly closer, and increasingly larger. What he could only describe as a massive bullet landed at his feet.

“Is this the suit?”  

“It is. Once you get it within 3 yards of Mr. Stark it will activate and seek him out. Should I download the blueprints for the complex?”

That was probably a good idea. Peter took a few more moments to think, then gave FRIDAY a series of quick instructions.

Peter stood up. It was time to go back inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes of substance at the end of the work)
> 
> I'm happy to know if something worked or didn't work for you, or if you caught an error.  
> Comments, critiques, corrections, and comments are always welcome!


	7. Chapter 7

Tony sat on the ground, one arm supporting him, the other resting on his knee. He hated waiting, not knowing if the extended silence was because Peter had managed to subdue Panaius and his men, or because he’d failed. On his best days, it was a crapshoot whether or not Peter would follow instructions and stay safe. Today, after everything Tony had done to him, it was more like a roulette.

An enormous crash seemed to travel through the ground. Tony stood. The wall adjacent to the door hummed with a force that shook his teeth.

Tony gestured to May. She twisted the shell of the beads, and hundreds of tiny de-facto mirrors seemed to crawl forward, creating a tiny little fort around her. They glimmered once, then disappeared, leaving seemingly empty space where May was.

He looked back to the door. _Only ninety-nine problems to go_ , he thought.

The reverberations kept coming, until in one moment of utter silence they stopped. Then the wall exploded inwards and his _oh, thank God_ suit came rushing at him.

Tony braced himself.

The suit closed around him with elegant ease, each piece inviting its neighbor to join just as soon as it locked into place. Tony would have to remember which Mark this was, because it was the gentlest refitting he’s ever experienced.

The adrenaline rushed him, and for now he actually felt good. Like himself, again. Like he was more than the guy who beat up on kids, he was Iron Man. An Avenger. And he had what to avenge.

Without looking behind him he said, “stay here,” and flew towards the hole in the wall.

“FRIDAY, what’s happening out there? Are you in their systems? Give me some info,” Tony said, as he approached the wall and peeked outside. He made out vague pandemonium.

“I’m inside, it wasn’t hard, Boss. Spider-Man dropped your suit down from the ceiling, then made a quick retreat. They’re shooting up the ceiling all up and down the corridors, now.”

“Is he safe? Does he need a hand?”

“He’s not in harm’s way, Boss. He’s currently back in the basement level ladies’ room. And before you ask,” she continued, “I’ve already called the FBI and Colonel Rhodes. They’re 9 and 2 minutes out, respectively. I’ve also sealed off all the exits, per Spider-Man’s request.”

Time to do some damage, then. Give the guards of this place something to worry about that wasn’t _where did May Parker disappear to_. And Panaius. He would find him.

“FRIDAY,” Tony said as he exited the hallway toward the lobby area, and took in the terrain. “Be a dear and give me some music?”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

Tony extended his hands, palms out. He rose till he was almost at ceiling level, and began to shoot out the booth where the security guards sat, monitoring the video feed. Their screens exploded fantastically.

A bass drum began to play as Tony rotated to keep the guards running in the opposite direction.

“No, don’t go,” he said almost to himself, as he began to pursue.

The song began in earnest.

_Cause baby now we got bad blood, you know we used to be mad love_

Tony halted mid-air. The guards ran off, anyway. He focused on the readings in front of him, as though the suit might be at fault. 

“FRIDAY, what the hell am I listening to?”

~*~

Peter had remained undetected right up until the moment he let the suit drop from the ceiling near the guards’ booth, just outside the door leading to the cells. It crashed with a massive sound, breaking the bare concrete floor beneath it. He saw the suit unpack itself and re-form. He wanted to say longer, but he’d been noticed.

He swung back the way he came, the bullets trailing far behind him and wide of the mark. Unsure of where to go, he returned to girls’ bathroom where he’d come in. He climbed a wall for some perspective, but he realized he didn’t exactly know what to do, now. Did he just fight everyone until the FBI came? Or go help get May to safety?

“FRIDAY, is Mr. Stark online? Will the comms work down here?” He asked.

She answered immediately.

“Mr. Stark is online, and I’ve inserted myself into the intranet of the facility. The comms will work internally, for now,” FRIDAY said.

Peter tapped his ear, hoping the comm-activation was the same on this suit as it was on the one at home.

“Uh, Mr. Stark?”

“I’m here, kid. Good to hear you. You alright? Were you hit?”

Mr. Stark sounded a little distracted and little annoyed. After being called “Boss Baby” for the last twenty minutes, Peter could relate.

“No, I’m good. I’m just, I’m not sure what to do now? Should I go fight someone?”

“Sit tight, I’m coming to you,” Mr. Stark said. “So at least turn it off!” He snapped, but it didn’t sound like he was talking to Peter.

A few moments later the door opened, and Iron Man came in. Peter jumped off the wall and landed lightly in front of him.

“Is May safe?”

“She’s fine,” Mr. Stark said, a little curtly.

“We need to get to Paniaus before the authorities get here. Did he see you go all… Webbed Wonder?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, he and one of the goons—I can’t tell them apart, do you think he buys them wholesale?—they were in the room. The other two just saw Spider-Man, but I don’t think it’ll be too hard for them to put two and two together. Though that hasn’t been the strong suit of these guys, so I dunno.”

Mr. Stark’s faceplate lifted. Peter was glad for his own mask, because he knew his face registered surprise. He’d forgotten how bruised and pale Tony was when he’d left him. Somehow, he thought that being Iron Man again would have undone the damage. He was so stupid sometimes.

“Wow. Just…” He gestured a _shhhh_ motion with one hand against his mouth.

“Come with me, don’t get killed. Web up anyone we come across that isn’t me or the FBI. Got that?”

Peter nodded once. “Got it,” he said.

The made their way through the halls, Mr. Stark stunning the people (agents? Workers? Who were these people?) they came across, while Peter webbed them up against walls and ceilings.

The room that reeked of blood was still locked when they got to it, but Mr. Stark raised a palm to the door and blasted it in without breaking his stride. Peter came in after him, taking up position behind him on the ceiling. He knew that it would take some kind miracle for any one of the four webbed-up people in the room to do anything to Mr. Stark while he was wearing the Iron Man suit, but he could _taste_ the blood, again. He wanted to be ready, just in case.

All four men were awake.

Mr. Stark looked from one to another.

“Panaius. Surly. Burly.”

He paused.

“I don’t know, Bob?”

“Give me a good reason not to kill you.”

The four men began to blather incoherently behind the webbing that bound their mouths.

“You know what, I’m not convinced,” Tony said, and raised an open-palm towards Panaius. He was breathing deeply, as though steeling himself to do something. The man’s eyes widened in fear. The moment seemed to drag on and _on._

Peter wasn’t sure what he was hoping would happen. Part of him knew that that wasn’t the way to do things. That the reason he did what he did was to _protect_ people, even evil people like Panaius. But he also desperately wanted to see those men suffer. They deserved anything and everything Mr. Stark could do to them. He wanted to hear them beg, scream, and cry for help that wasn’t coming. He was a little embarrassed of that part.

But it wasn’t his call right now, and he was grateful for it. He stayed perfectly still, waiting to see how it would play out.

Mr. Stark took another deep, shuddering breath, but when he shot it was only to stun Panaius and the others. Then he bent down and tore at the webs that held him in place. He roughly patted him down, then pulled a nice-looking watch and a flip-phone from an inner pocket of Panaius’ suit jacket.

“Let’s go,” he said, without turning to look at Peter.

Mr. Stark turned to the door, but before he stepped out he paused. Peter had dropped to the floor behind him, and was still crouched, supported by one hand, when Mr. Stark walked right past him. Peter followed him with his eyes as he activated all his repulsors, and gently hovered till he was level with a clock that hung on the wall behind the four unconscious men.

Peter was about to ask what he was doing, when Mr. Stark raised on arm and punched the clock, cracking the glass that covered its face. He punched with the other fist, busting it entirely. But then Mr. Stark continued punching, alternating arms. The clock had fallen from the wall, in pieces, but Mr. Stark continued hitting the place where it hung, screaming in frustration— _frustration at what?_ —as he hit. The concrete of the wall cracked, then shattered, and Mr. Stark continued hitting. Now chunks of concrete were falling below, hitting the men who lay prone beneath Mr. Stark.

Peter didn’t care _at all_. But…

He wasn’t sure what to do. If he’d been through what Mr. Stark had been through, he’d probably be pretty angry at the wall, too. But the cops and Colonel Rhodes would be here soon, if they weren’t already, and Peter was certain Mr. Stark wouldn’t want to be seen, out of control like this.

So Peter quietly stepped up on the bloodied chair and from there onto the table, and with a silent web lifted himself up to the ceiling. He crawled along until he was on level with Mr. Stark, off a little to the side. Then he came closer.

Mr. Stark was still hitting the wall, now only grunting with effort as each fist landed. Peter flung aside pieces of concrete that came his way. He moved onto the wall Mr. Stark was hitting, near where the clock used to hang. He hung upside down so he was facing Tony.

“Uh, Mr. Stark?”

Tony half-grunted, half-screamed, and the next fist launched at Peter’s head.

 Peter caught it with two hands, and the squandered momentum seemed to travel back up Mr. Stark’s arm. His whole suit trembled. His head turned to Peter, slowly. They were still for a moment.

“FRIDAY said that Colonel Rhodes would be here, soon, and now it’s probably soon already, and maybe we should go?” Peter couldn’t see his face, and had no idea if Mr. Stark was even hearing him.

And then he realized that Tony couldn’t see him, either. He pulled off his mask.

“Mr. Stark, I really want to go. Can we find May and go? Please?”

Peter must have looked ridiculous. He was hanging upside-down from the ceiling, his hair floating at full length beneath him, and he was holding one of Iron Man fists in both of his.

But the absurd moment ended quickly. Mr. Stark pulled his fist back and dropped heavily to the ground. With one last glance at the prone men, he left the room.

Peter pulled his mask back on and hurried out after him.

~*~

They came back out to the main area ready to fight, but it was essentially clean-up at that point. War Machine had easily subdued the armed personnel of the facility, and the FBI had full control over who left the building. A quick run-through had proven that kidnapping three people was not the only illegal activity on the premises, so everyone was being detained for questioning.

Peter hung back, scanning the crowds from high up the wall, but he couldn’t see May. He climbed down and made his way to Mr. Stark, who was standing with Colonel Rhodes, and who still hadn’t said two nice words to him since before those guys dragged Peter away. It was obvious Mr. Stark was angry with him, but what had he done?

“Those guys are tripping over themselves to talk, now that this operation has blown up. It’s a good thing you got that suit when you did, Tony. They had orders to kill you just as soon as they heard sirens. Though it kinda looks like they tried it before, too,” Rhodes said.

“Thanks, man. You always know how to make a girl feel pretty,” Mr. Stark replied.

They stood for a moment in comfortable silence, and Peter took the opportunity to interrupt.

“Excuse me, Mr. Stark? And War Machine? Hi. Nice to see you again,” Peter said, and _God,_ he was the worst.

But Mr. Stark didn’t comment on his awkwardness. He just turned to him, faceplate open, and asked briskly, “Yeah?”

“Um, May… Parker? Where is she?”

“She’s still in the cell, waiting for someone to get her, I imagine.”

Peter turned to leave, but an Iron hand grabbed his arm. Ow.

“I imagine she’ll be looking for her _nephew_ as soon as she gets out. Maybe you should let Rhodes get her, and you _go find the kid_.” Mr. Stark said pointedly.

 _Oh, right,_ Peter thought, and it seemed like that was the only thing he was capable of thinking the last few hours. He knew he was smarter than that, so why did he always need Mr. Stark to point out the obvious to him? It’s like he turned off his brain when he was around the older man.

Colonel Rhodes, it seemed, wasn’t all caught up.

“I’m sorry, what? There was a kid here, Tony? Where is he? Is he alright? FRIDAY didn’t say anything about a kid.”

“He got out. I’m sure he’s fine,” Mr. Stark said, and rubbed a hand down his face. He looked spent, Peter thought.

“Why don’t you go look for him somewhere outside, Spider-Man, and then get lost. I’m sure the cops would like to have a word with you if you hang around much longer,” Mr. Stark said.

“Okay, _Iron Man_ ,” Peter said. He guessed they were doing that, now?

But Mr. Stark ignored him, and turned instead to Rhodes.

“Rhodey, after you get the woman, there are some guys webbed up in one of the back rooms. I’ll send you the exact location. They need to be isolated. Like, Raft isolated.”

Rhodes didn’t ask anything further. He just nodded.

No one said anything for a moment, so Peter turned to “get lost,” then decided that mad at him or not, Mr. Stark deserved to be thanked.

“Mr. Stark, I—“ He began, but Mr. Stark’s faceplate closed at that moment.

“Mr. Stark is no longer conscious. Charting flight plan to Cedar Crest hospital,” FRIDAY said in a clear voice, and the suit took off.

“Did she just say he was unconscious?” Rhodes asked.

Spider-Man just sighed. He supposed that Mr. Stark couldn’t control that, exactly, but he hated him a little for it, nonetheless.

He went to find Peter Parker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes of substance at the end of the work)
> 
> I'm happy to know if something worked or didn't work for you, or if you caught an error.  
> Comments, critiques, corrections, and comments are always welcome!


	8. Chapter 8

Tony was home.

His emergency protocols, he was happy to know, worked well. After a brief stop at the hospital to ensure he wasn’t dying, he’d removed to the Avengers Compound where private, good looking nurses took over treatment. Of course, Pepper had made sure they were all male nurses as a running joke between them, but it was still nice to be treated in the relative comfort of the med-bay.

He’d received a unit of blood and half of an IV drip of fluids before he couldn’t sit still anymore and had had to go outdoors. Fresh air still felt like a bit of a luxury. He stood on the balcony, gripping it tightly as he took in breath after breath. The stitches down his arms pulled a bit with the force of his grip, but it was a small price to pay for the freedom of movement.

The good news was that there was no permanent damage, more-or-less. His left scapula—what was quickly becoming his _bad shoulder_ , he hated to admit—was fractured, and back in a sling. The doctor seemed to think he should be thankful for that being the only result of spending hours in a stress position, but screw him. He still had very limited movement, and even that hurt. He was not quite ready for gratitude, yet.

Later that evening Rhodey came by, to update him on the arrests at PanaiTech. Pepper was away (and hopefully he’d be well enough by the time she got back to sugarcoat the hell out of this), and Tony had sent happy to get very specific food from a takeout place about an hour away. He’d desperately needed some space, and Happy was mother-henning him to the point of madness.

Rhodey didn’t stay long. The factory was shut down. Other than their division on human experiments, PanaiTech also had child-trafficking, illegal arms import, and heroin divisions. They were essentially a cartel.

Two of the four men in that room had been dead when Rhodey found them. It seemed that concrete from the crumbling wall had fallen on them. It was Panaius and one of the guards. The woman and her kid were okay, and they’d been sent home after being tended to by EMTs on the scene. That was all he knew.

Tony sat on a couch, his legs up on a coffee table, taking in the information silently. His closed fist rested against his mouth as he listened without comment to Rhodey’s report, his gaze fixed in the middle distance. He thanked Rhodes for being there when he got up to leave, but he knew it was distracted at best, even as he was saying it.

He just couldn’t shake the burden of how colossally he’d screwed up. His warm sweatshirt covered the bandages on his arms, the bruises along his body, the swollen ribs, and the dozens of little wounds left by the dozens of little darts of one little man. But he was keenly aware of each, and although he tried to feel sorry for himself, he knew that he’d deserved each and every injury.

Maybe if he’d let Panaius go at _him_ one more time he wouldn’t have bothered with the added little game at the end, there. Maybe if he’d taken another beating, or a few more stabs or whatever the hell else that psycho had planned he could have been spared having to beat the kid, spared having to watch the kid’s faith in him shatter.

He closed his eyes against the memory, but it only became more vivid. The way Parker looked at him when he shoved him away… he’d gone too far.

And the worst part was that he was certain that he’d do it again, if faced with the same choice. He’d be damned, but he still saw no other way to get the kid out of there. He really believed Panaius would make good on his threats against the boy. Was he foolish to believe him?

He sat there for hours, long after Rhodes left and Happy returned with dinner, his thoughts chasing one another inside his head.

~*~

_Panaius begins to grow frustrated. Part of Tony is happy to see it. The other, louder part of him is screaming as his chest is pushed against the wall, darts somehow digging even deeper into him as the pressure increases_

Tony checks the clock, but it isn’t time to be up yet. He turns back to his work table. Does Peter have a spacesuit? Does he need one? It doesn’t matter. Tony picks up his pencil again, turns his sheet of paper over, and begins a new set of calculations.

_A dart is pushed into his forearm with force, and dragged down. Panaius is screaming now, too, in anger and impotence_

He’s pushing down too hard on the pencil, and it rips a through the paper, leaving a gray line on the table beneath. This angers Tony, even though the table is far from clean, and is even marked with intentional doodles and sketches from times he was too engrossed in his work to get up and get new paper.

_He’s hitting the wall, and he’s angry, so angry. He wants to kill those men at his feet so badly, but he can’t do it, not with the kid watching. Not when he’s already ruined so much of him. So he turns on the clock and the wall behind it, and it receives every second of helplessness Tony has experienced over the last day. But he can’t stop, because there’s a lot of helplessness, and he’s_ so _angry and the kid is hanging there, mask off, and he’s so young still holding the fist that Tony had thrown_

Tony crumples the paper he’s working on, and tosses it aside. Then he snaps the pencil in half, for good measure. His hand runs down his face, along his mouth, over his neck. God, he wishes he could sleep.

~*~

He called May the following morning. He figured that twenty-four hours was long enough to recuperate enough for a call of concern.

She was more than civil. She was polite. She thanked Tony for all he’d done, and asked him to stay away from Peter.

“I’m sorry? Peter wants out of the Stark internship? He said that?” Tony asked, but his tone made it clear he didn’t really think it was true. He hadn’t thought the kid was _that_ undone by what had happened. He almost seemed himself when he was Spider-Man, yesterday.

“He didn’t have to, Mr. Stark.” She must have heard how harsh that sounded, because when she spoke again her tone was a little kinder, though no less firm.

“Listen, Tony, I get what happened back there. I really do. But you hit my kid. And Peter… He doesn’t trust people easily. He’s a shy kid. And he trusted you. Now he’s waking up with nightmares of you, terrified. The neighbors have asked me who _Stark_ is.”

There was silence on the line for a moment, as that sank in.

“Okey-dokey, then,” Tony said lightly. He will not dwell on this, not with May.

“I’ll have someone come down and deliver the kid a new hoodie. I know he liked that one. Make him wash the new one, though.”

“I’ll send your bracelets back with them. Thank you again, Mr. Stark. Maybe in a few months…” She trailed off. She obviously didn’t believe that.

He disconnected the call with a quick, “Gotta go.”

Tony spent the rest of the day ignoring that phone call, but apparently he was terribly bad at that. His thoughts kept circling back to it, as though maybe it would end differently if he went over it again once more.

He found a few more reasons to get Happy out of his way, and went back to his workroom. He needed to be busy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes of substance at the end of the work)
> 
> I'm happy to know if something worked or didn't work for you, or if you caught an error.   
> Comments, critiques, corrections, and comments are always welcome!


	9. Chapter 9

In the late afternoon he moved from his work station to the couch, shifting and repositioning himself until he found an angle in which he could more-or-less breath without hurting his ribs, and then opened the digital scans of his earlier calculations. He sifted through them a little absently, marking tweaks and flaws as he examined the new suit from different angles.

His mind was still on that phone call.

In a way, he envied May. He never wanted kids himself, but he supposed there was something nice about knowing, at least, that you’re doing what’s right for them, instead of sitting around wondering how badly you’ve screwed them up and will they ever forgive you. But here he was, doing just that, a crushing sense of responsibility battling an equally crushing sense of inadequacy.

“Cool suit! Is that for me?”

Tony jumped to his feet, but by the time he was standing he had processed what was happening. He held his ribs and bit back a groan.

“What? FRIDAY—what are you doing? Sleeping on the job? Are your security protocols no longer a thing?”

“They’re a thing, Boss. Happy let Peter Parker into the facility,” FRIDAY said.

After a moment she added, “Peter Parker’s here, Boss.”

Tony tilted his head, and shook it a little. “Yes, thank you.”

Then he turned back to the kid.

“Listen, kid, I know why you’re here,” Tony said with a sigh. “You need closure, confront your attacker, all that, but please—can it wait? I promise I’ll still be here in, say, a week.”

The kid grabbed both straps of his backpack, and laughed a little confusedly.

“Whaa? I don’t—“

“Does your aunt even know you’re here?” Tony interrupted him. “I bet she doesn’t. I need you to leave, _now_. It’s been long few days. I really want to _not_ be a dick to you right now, but I haven’t slept and frankly, I’m a little annoyed that FRIDAY—“

The kid spoke over him.

“Mr. Stark, can I go first this time? Please?” For a fraction of a second, _the kid was hanging upside down, his hair falling beneath him,_ and Tony found he couldn’t really refuse him the floor for whatever it was he had to get off his chest. It was obviously important enough to hitch an illicit ride with Happy. He gestured, a little sarcastically, for the kid to go ahead.

“Are you mad at me?”

Was that it? Tony waited for him to continue, and leaned in a little closer as though the problem was distance. But the kid had apparently said his piece. His eyes darted around the room and then back at Tony, finally resting on the floor beneath him, but he added nothing.

The silence stretched on.

“Wow, this became really awkward,” Tony said. “I took too long to answer, that’s on me. But _what_? Why would I be mad at you?”

“I don’t know,” the kid said, and again he was looking everywhere but at Tony, “you barely spoke to me since those guys took me out of the cell,” he said, “and when you did it was barely two words! You haven’t called, not even just to ask for the beads back, and _no one_ was willing to tell me if you were even okay!” The kid extended his arm in frustration.

“And I guess I know why, so I’m also going to say I’m sorry.” He paused for a moment. “You can kick me out, now,” Peter added, and Tony knew he really couldn’t.

“Come, sit,” he said, and gestured to couch. Tony himself sat down carefully, making room for Peter on his right. The kid seemed unsure as he took a seat, like he wasn’t certain he was really invited. He sat where Tony showed him, but he kept his distance. Tony wasn’t sure what to make of it.

He wasn’t sure of anything, if he was being perfectly honest. He couldn’t send the kid home when he was so distressed, but he also did not know what he was expected to tell him. How honest are you even supposed to be with kids?

Fuck it. He was too tired to think this through anymore.

“You don’t need to apologize for anything. I’m not mad. What would I be mad about? You did great back there, kid, really.”

Peter stopped fidgeting at that, and he looked up at Tony.

“Then why—“

“I screwed up kid, okay? I tried to protect you, and I’m sorry I ended up doing more damage than good. But your aunt’s right, and I think you still need time to process this away from _me_.”

“What? May? What does she…?” The kid looked puzzled, and he turned on the couch so he was facing Tony, now.

“I did call, I spoke to May. But she told me about… She told me about your nightmares. And I’m sorry,” Tony said again, and shook his head.

“If I thought for one second that I would scare you like that, I would have found another way, I swear.” Tony meant it. He still didn’t know what else he might have done, but there had to be a way that didn’t result with the kid fearing Tony would come for him in the dead of night.

But before he had finished speaking the kid was shaking his head, hands in his lap but palms out, and his expression read like he was facing a Spanish vocab test he hadn’t prepared for.

“Mr. Stark, I literally have _no_ idea what you’re talking about. When did you scare me? And May shouldn’t have told you about the nightmares,” he said, and he wasn’t making eye contact anymore. Was he blushing?

“But they aren’t about you.”

“Cut the crap, kid. She said you woke up screaming because of me. Or are you having nightmares about _Game of Thrones_?”

Peter looked down, eyes on the sleeve of his hoodie as he pulled at the seams.

“Also. But not last night. I wasn’t…” Peter took a deep breath, then said quickly, “I wasn’t screaming _because_ of you. I was screaming _for_ you. It’s just, that was scary, alright?” And now he looked up at Tony, and his eyes were a little worried, and a little desperate.

“What they did to you, Mr. Stark,” He added, and gestured vaguely at his own chest area. “It was terrible, and I can’t help think that I could have stopped it. Maybe. I don’t know. So I dream that they’re doing it again, and I’m just standing there _letting_ them, and by the time I try to stop them it’s, it’s… too late. And you did so much to protect me and May, and after we lost Ben, I just, it’s that, I can’t lose another… Person because I didn’t do enough.”

Peter’s voice shook. Tony looked to see if Peter was crying, but his eyes were dry.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do enough.”

That hung in the air between them for a moment. The kid took in a shuddering breath and looked away. That… was not was Tony was expecting. It finally clicked that the kid must have been the one to pull out all those darts, to bandage his arms. God, that was gruesome.

He put his hand on the kid’s knee.

“Jesus, Peter. That wasn’t your fault.” Tony didn’t really know what else to say. The only thing he could think of was probably inappropriate information to share, all things considered.

“If it makes you feel better, Panaius and one of the guys who did this are dead. They were hit by some falling concrete.”

The kid turned his head towards Tony. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, tentatively, shrugging his shoulders lightly, he offered, “Sorry for your loss?”

Tony laughed. It was genuine, and it caught him by surprise. He clapped this kid’s knee once, then used it as leverage to stand up. He needed a drink.

“Thanks for your sympathies,” he said, and the kid smiled a bit. “I’ll be sure to put your name on the arrangement.”

Tony handed the kid a glass of soda, then poured himself a drink and came to sit back down.

“So how was the nanotech suit?”

Peter lit up. “Oh, it was _awesome_ Mr. Stark! The deployment was, like, super-smooth, and it fit really well. The view from the mask was a little dark, though. So like, maybe the dampeners need to be recalibrated, or add exterior illumination to set it off, or something.”

As he spoke, Peter took a small sip from his soda and set it down on the coffee table. Tony set down his own drink and pointedly placed Peter’s glass on a coaster.

“That’s a good idea. Would look pretty cool, too,” Tony said, and reached over to the mini-console he’d dropped onto the couch when the kid came in. He opened the scans and added a few notes.

“The music library was awesome, too.” Peter sat back and bent his knee, his foot resting on the couch.

Tony kicked it out from under him with a quiet, disbelieving reprimand of, _shoes!_  God, the multitasking this kid required just to keep up with him. Peter didn’t lose a beat.

“Does Karen also have a music library? I never thought to ask. I mean, she doesn’t need one if not, it was just cool that FRIDAY did.”

Tony’s mind felt like a screen of Tetris, blocks of disconnected information suddenly fitting perfectly.

“ _You!”_ He accused, and leaned forward till he was close enough to poke the kid’s chest. He was careful not to lay a finger on him, though. Too soon.

“You’re the reason FRIDAY would only play me Taylor Swift when I was bleeding and broken and needed the comfort of good music?”

The kid looked smug, and a little chagrined. “I don’t know. Are _you_ the reason I was scared and alone and needed to run a rescue mission while being called _Boss Baby_ every few seconds?”

The rest of the Tetris pieces slid into place, and a solid wall disappeared from Tony’s mind.

“Oh, my goodness me. Is _that_ why you made that godawful face in the cell? Right before… Right after I pushed you away towards Surly?”

“I didn’t make a face,” Peter said, and it didn’t seem as though he hesitated over the blatant lie. He sounded like he believed it.

“No. Don’t do that. You looked at me like I killed your puppy and fed it to you, you little urchin.”

“I didn’t give you a look, Mr. Stark, I swear,” the kid asserted again. Then he added, as an afterthought, “Did I?”

Holy shit. He’d been beating himself over this for two days now, and… Tony sat back.

“You _gave_ a look,” he said.

“I’m sorry.” The kid probably didn’t even know what he was actually apologizing for.

Tony let it go.

He was mostly relieved that the kid was traumatized from something that wasn’t him. And wasn’t that a nice thought.

Tony reached over the Peter’s shoulder, and when the kid noticed, he quickly ducked out of the way.

Tony remained still, his arm still suspended midair.

“You know what, _that_ was going to be a hug,” he said, and lowered his arm. He sat back against the couch.

The kid looked comically agonized.

“What? No! I thought you were reaching for your glass on the table—we can go again, I won’t move, I promise!”

“No, you ruined it. Moment’s gone,” Tony said.

The kid sat back on the couch, too, and after stealing a glance at Tony’s legs, put his up on the coffee table, too.

They were quiet for a moment before Tony spoke.

“Don’t mess with my music again.”

“Tell FRIDAY to stop calling me ‘Boss Baby’.”

 _God, the stupid shit kids care about,_ Tony thought.

~*~

After they ate, the kid said his alibi was going to run out soon, so he’d better be getting home. Tony agreed. He was glad he kid had come up, but Tony was done with familial drama for a while. They both needed to keep on May’s good side, for a bit.

They stood together in the chilly evening air while they waited for the car to come around. Tony noticed that Peter was taking in deep, deliberate breaths, too.

“Fresh air is a nice change of pace, huh?” He said.

“Uh, yeah,” Peter replied, with an embarrassed laugh.

Tony pretended to look for the car down the curve in the driveway when he next spoke.

“Peter, thank you for taking care of me back there. I mean, at PanaiTech. Taking those things out of me must have been pretty tough.”

And there it was. The kid kept his composure, and kept his eyes on the ground. He was too adult and probably a little too proud to outright sob. But the tears pooled in his eyes and began to fall, as he wiped at them with the sleeves of his hoodie.

“You did the right thing, laying low until it was time to get out. We wouldn’t be here, right now, if not for you,” Tony said. “I know it’s hard because you’re Spider-Man, but me and May, it’s our job to protect you. On that much we agree.”

Peter lifted his glance. He swiped at his eyes one last time, and no new tears formed.

“That’s not _good enough_. Who protects you?”

Tony swallowed and looked away. Because if he’d been asked that even two days ago, the answer would be _no one_. Now? Tony hated the weak little part of him that enjoyed knowing that the answer had changed.

Tony reached out to the back of Peter’s head and pulled him in a little closer, until his head was resting on Tony’s shoulder. He didn’t look down when he spoke, but his fingers applied a little more pressure to the kid’s head.  

“Don’t worry about me, Pete. I’m Iron Man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things: 
> 
> 1) Thanks if you've made it this far. I hope this work gave you *something*. As I said at the beginning, Hurt Tony is hard to sell, so if it worked in any measure at all, I'm glad. 
> 
> 2) I think that Tony's story arc focuses on his (in)ability to protect. You know how Doctor Strange had to learn to release control? I think Tony needs to learn the same thing, but he doesn't get to do it in one epic fight against Dormammu; he has to go at it in excruciating slow-motion, learning one-person-at-a-time that sometimes the way to protect them is to let them be in danger. This is part of what I was trying to explore. 
> 
> 3) There was a lot of technical nonsense in this. You can have your disbelief back, now. But please don't use it till you've left the premises... :)
> 
> 4) This size fic is new to me (it's more than triple what I usually write), so I'm open to learning what worked and what didn't, pacing issues, etc.
> 
> 5) Just in case anyone wondered-- the line I started out with was "take the kid." I wondered what it would take to get Protective Tony to "sacrifice" Peter.

**Author's Note:**

> (Notes of substance at the end of the work.)


End file.
